"He must be worse," said the old gentleman, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.
With one accord they started softly to retrace their steps when a new sound halted them again. It was a clear, fresh young voice singing a plaintive ditty in a nonchalant, careless tone.
"That's Ethel, I'm sure," exclaimed Louise, grasping her uncle's arm.
"Well, what shall we do?" he demanded.
"Mr.—the crazy man seems quiet now," she whispered. "Let us find the girl, if we can."
So again they traversed the path and this time came to the pretty garden behind the house. Ethel was tending a flower bed. She wore her gingham dress and a sunbonnet, and, kneeling in the path, stretched out her slim brown arm to uproot the weeds. But the crunching of the gravel aroused her attention, and, observing her visitors, she sprang up and hastened toward them.
Louise introduced her uncle and herself in her most pleasant and gracious way, and the school teacher led them to a garden bench and begged them to be seated.
"The day is lovely," she said, "and I always find my garden more cheerful than the house. Grandfather's illness makes the house unpleasant for strangers, too."
Louise was surprised at this frank reference, and Uncle John coughed to hide his embarrassment.
"I—I hope the invalid is—is improving," he said, doubtful whether he should say anything on the delicate subject or not.