“No, in the farmhouse. I don’t suppose there’s anybody in the little house.”
“It could be fitted up,” said his mother quickly. “That ’s better than boarding; and you must not do the work—with all that will come on you besides. Mrs. Tomlinson would cook for you.”
“Ellen Tomlinson is a powerful good cook,” said Caleb solemnly. “I ’ve et her victuals many a time.”
“I ’ll go down tomorrow,” said John. “We can have the little house, I know—It belongs to the road—and I ’ll put in a few camping things. If Ellen won’t cook for us, we ’ll make shift somehow.”
“You must not do it,” said his mother.
“It’s good air,” said Caleb, “—High up.”
“And very still there—the top of the world,” said his mother with a little flitting sigh.
“It’s just the place,” said John. Then he hesitated a minute. Hugh Tomlinson’s face had suddenly flashed before him—the red-rimmed eyes and the high, quavering voice.... Would Simeon object to his presence? He had always refused to speak of Tomlinson and he was gruffly silent when his name was mentioned.... But he had put him on the farm—rent-free—and he had sent the cheque—a thousand dollars.... John weighed the chances... and even while he hesitated, an instinct deeper than reason told him that the old Scotchman’s presence must be concealed from Simeon.... He might not mind. But there must be no risk.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I ’ll go down to see the Tomlinsons and get the house ready.”
The old Scotchman surveyed him with keen eyes. “He wants to come here?—Sim Tetlow wants to come here—to this farm!”