“Well!” she gave a deep, healthy exhalation, and stepped back into the narrow path. “I’m both sorry and glad. I don’t know why I should be glad; but I am. It is all mixed—m-mixed u-up.” Her lips quivered though her eyes smiled gamely. “I don’t know whether I am going to cry or laugh.”
“Shall I toss a coin?” Blynn inquired.
“Chuck” was examining the “hunky” and speculating upon moving in as soon as he could wheedle a tent out of his father. Blynn and Gorgas stood close together facing each other in the path. Her eyes searched his steadily until they slowly brimmed and shut out all view.
“I guess I’m mo-mostly g-glad!” she put out her hands toward him and lightly touched his sleeve.
“If you cry now,” whispered the man, “you’ll splash me awfully. Let’s wait till we have more room.”
That decided the matter. It was a hearty burst of girlish laughter which cleared the air like the proverbial thunder. All the way home they sang and danced and played “tag” and raced.
“When will Bardek be back?” Blynn asked before he bade the children goodby.
“Perhaps next week; perhaps next month,” Gorgas conjectured. “Once he stayed away two months. Oh, he’ll be along again soon. A tout à l’heure, m’sieu’.” She stepped gaily up the walk toward her own door. “Auf wiedersehen und -hören und -sprechen. Until I see you and hear you and speak you again!”
Yet the month passed away, and another month and many months, but Cresheim Valley saw no trace of Bardek.
Along in November the mails brought a carefully wrapped package containing eighty-two dollars and six cents. A note in French said simply: