After dinner Jordan crept up by way of the back stairs to see her. Aunty Nan was lying with her eyes fixed on the pale pink climbing roses that nodded about the window. When she saw Jordan she smiled.
“Them roses put me so much in mind of little Joscelyn,” she said softly. “She loved them so. If I could only see her! Oh, Jordan, if I could only see her! Maria says it’s terrible childish to be always harping on that string, and mebbe it is. But—oh, Jordan, there’s such a hunger in my heart for her, such a hunger!”
Jordan felt a queer sensation in his throat, and twisted his ragged straw hat about in his big hands. Just then a vague idea which had hovered in his brain all day crystallized into decision. But all he said was:
“I hope you’ll feel better soon, Aunty Nan.”
“Oh, yes, Jordan dear, I’ll be better soon,” said Aunty Nan with her own sweet smile. “‘The inhabitant shall not say I am sick,’ you know. But if I could only see little Joscelyn first!”
Jordan went out and hurried down-stairs. Billy Morrison was in the stable, when Jordan stuck his head over the half-door.
“Say, can I have the rest of the day off, sir? I want to go to Kensington.”
“Well, I don’t mind,” said Billy Morrison amiably. “May’s well get you jaunting done ‘fore harvest comes on. And here, Jord; take this quarter and get some oranges for Aunty Nan. Needn’t mention it to headquarters.”
Billy Morrison’s face was solemn, but Jordan winked as he pocketed the money.
“If I’ve any luck, I’ll bring her something that’ll do her more good than the oranges,” he muttered, as he hurried off to the pasture. Jordan had a horse of his own now, a rather bony nag, answering to the name of Dan. Billy Morrison had agreed to pasture the animal if Jordan used him in the farm work, an arrangement scoffed at by Mrs. William in no measured terms.