“That’s right,” he agreed. “You ought to. Well, make yourself at home now. There are the books; somebody ought to use ’em. Do anything you want to. As I said before, this is home and you must treat it as if it was.”
He lighted a cigar, picked up the paper and began to read. She wandered once more to the bookcase, but “Ostable County and Its Leading Citizens” was not very interesting, nor was she in a mood to appreciate it if it had been. The temporary excitement of the wonderful supper table and its grandeur had passed and her homesickness had returned, worse than ever. She wondered what they were doing at home—her real home, not this make-believe. It was after nine, so the post office was closed and Aunt Reliance was in the house, in the sitting-room. Was she as lonesome as she, Esther, was at that minute? Oh, if she could only go to her, could run away from this horrid place where she did not belong to that where she did! If she had not promised faithfully! Oh, dear! Why had she!
She turned in desperation.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, chokingly. “I think I will go to bed now. I—I am pretty tired.”
He looked up from the paper. “Eh?” he said. “Tired? Oh, yes, I guess you are. This has been a sort of trying day for you, I shouldn’t wonder. Well, to-morrow we’ll see if we can’t find something to keep you interested. Ellen has fixed your room. If she hasn’t done things as you want ’em done, call her and see that she does. I shall turn in, myself, before long. Hope you sleep first rate. Good-night, Esther.”
“Good-night, sir.”
“Eh?... You’ve forgot again, haven’t you?”
“I’m sorry. Good-night, Uncle Foster.”
The pink room was alight, the bed had been opened, her nightdress was lying upon it. She went to the window, but she did not dare raise the shade. From that window one might see the light in the window of the Clark cottage, at the foot of the long hill. She could not trust herself to look in that direction. She undressed, blew out the lamp and got into a bed far softer than any she had ever before slept in. It was a long, long time before she did sleep, however. Homesickness is a mean disease; Foster Townsend was right when he said that.
The next morning was bright and sunshiny and when she awoke she was in better spirits. Being merely called to breakfast, instead of having to go to the kitchen and help prepare it, was of itself a gratifying novelty. After breakfast she accompanied her uncle on his morning round of inspection. In the stables Varunas was awaiting them. His eager politeness, in contrast to the casual everyday manner in which he had greeted her the previous afternoon, was also gratifying. At Captain Townsend’s suggestion he led out and exhibited Claribel and Hornet and others of the Townsend stables.