It was not until after they had gone, when Kit was by herself, that she remembered all Billie had told her at the very last of his stay.
They had walked along the lake shore together, a little behind the others, after they had visited the Flambeau family.
“You haven’t told me anything at all,” Kit said, “about home. When were you in Elmhurst last?”
“Just before we came here,” Billie answered.
“Was everything all right?” Billie hesitated. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Billie, tell me if there is anything. You can’t give me any nervous shocks at all, and I’m dying to find an excuse to get back home.”
“Why, there isn’t anything the matter, exactly,” Billie said cheerfully, but with a reservation in his tone that made Kit impatient. “The only thing that I know about, I heard Grandfather telling Uncle Tom. I don’t suppose I ought to repeat it either.”
“Honestly, Billie, you make me so exasperated at times. How dare you keep back any news of my family from me?”
“It was something about losing some stocks or dividends or something like that. I guess it hit Grandfather, too, but I heard him say that there wasn’t a farm up there that couldn’t support itself, properly run, and he guessed they’d all weather the storm.”
Billie was inclined to take an optimistic view of the whole affair. “Grandfather said that there was no cause for worry,” he went on. “It was just a case of pitch in and get your living out of the farms again.”
“Yes,” said Kit with scorn, “get your living out of the farms. That’s all very well for him to say, when he’s got everything to do with, and twenty of the best cows in the county, but we moved up there on hope and a shoestring. And we’ve never really raised anything except children and chickens.”