Irene sighed and Mary Louise smiled. It was almost impossible to defend Mr. Jones consistently, with Alora present to accuse him.
The artist at first took little interest in his new home. The cottage was small and not very cheerful, but it was cheap, and all that Jason Jones seemed to care for was a place to stay that was not expensive. He continued his reading and had a book in his hand from morning till night. He seldom left the cottage except for a trip to the public library or to a book-store, and never spoke to anyone unless it was necessary.
Their maid was Jane Gladys O'Donnel, stout and good-natured, an indifferent cook and rather untidy. She was twenty years old and the eldest of a large and impoverished family. Her mother was a laundress—"took in washin'"—and her earnings, with the wages of Jane Gladys, must suffice to feed many hungry mouths. That was why Mrs. Conant had hired Jane Gladys. Aunt Hannah knew the girl was not very competent, but she was cheap, so Mr. Jones accepted her without protest. Alora had lived so long abroad that she did not know what a competent American housemaid is.
One forenoon—they had now been a month at Dorfield—Mr. Jones was seated on the little front porch, reading as usual, when a queer buzzing in the air overhead aroused his attention.
"What's that?" he called sharply, and Jane Gladys, who was dusting in the little room behind him, replied:
"That, sor, is only Steve Kane's flyin' machine."
"A what?"
"A flyin'-machine, sor. Kane has a facthry fer makin' the crazy things in the town yonder—over by the South Side."
"Indeed!" He got up and went into the yard to watch the far-away speck in the sky that was humming so persistently. "Why, there's another! There are two of them," he exclaimed, as if to himself.
"There might be a dozen, sor, 'cause there's a school for airy—airy—airy-flyin' over by Kane's facthry, where they teaches the folks to fly that buy the machines."