6. “The Boy’s” Arrival
Mr. Craig had answered the first letter from Delphi, under Kit’s careful supervision, and the acceptance was vague enough to please her.
It aroused no suspicions whatever in the minds of Dean Peabody or Aunt Della. The only question was, who was to meet the child in Chicago. The through express would leave him there, and in order to connect with the Wisconsin trains it was necessary to make the change over to the Northwestern Depot.
Della was far more perturbed over it than her brother. Having set in motion the coming guest, he believed firmly that an unfaltering Fate would direct his footsteps safely to Delphi. Barton Cato Peabody had been peculiar all his life. He had been a strange boy, unsettled, studious, impractical. Miss Della was his younger sister, and ever since her youth had tried to give him all the love and encouragement that others refused. She had followed him faithfully and happily on all of his exploring expeditions. Perhaps one reason why these had been so successful was because she had always managed to surround him with home comforts, even in the wilds of the upper Nile.
And perhaps the quaintest thing about it all was that Della herself, no matter on what particular point of the globe she had happened to pitch her tent, had always retained her courage, although she had faced dangers that the average woman would have fled from.
Their house stood on the same hill as Hope College, the highest point in the rising ridge of bluffs along the Lake Shore at Delphi. It was built of dark red brick, a square house with long French windows. A grove of pine trees almost hid it from view on its street side, the stately Norway pines that Kit loved. The back of the house looked directly out over the lake, and the land here was frankly left to nature. Trees, grass, and underbrush rioted at will, until they suddenly ended on the brow of the bluff, where there was a sheer drop to the beach. Looking at it from below, Kit afterwards thought it was like a miniature section of the Yosemite; the sand had hardened into fantastic shapes, and the rock strata in places was plainly visible.
Mrs. Craig’s telegram arrived the night before Kit herself. It was brief and noncommittal. “Kit arrives Union Station, Chicago, Thursday, 10:22 A.M.”
“Kit,” repeated the Dean. “Humph! Nickname. Superfluous and derogatory.”
Della took the telegram from his desk with a little smile that was almost tremulous with excitement. “It’s probably the diminutive for Christopher, Bart,” she said. “I think it’s a nice name. I always liked the legend of St. Christopher. Somebody’ll have to meet him down in Chicago. He might lose his head and take the wrong train.”
“He’s about sixteen, isn’t he? Old enough to change from one train to another, and use his tongue if he’s in doubt. When I was sixteen, Della, I was earning my own living working on a farm summers, and going to a school in the winter where we all had to work for our board. Never hurt us a bit. The greatest trait of character you can instill in a child is self-reliance.”