“Yes. And I used to go out there with him—and watch it grow.”
“Oh!” The sigh was eloquently affectionate.
“Yes!” Trixy kicked her heels against the old lounge. “And it all seemed so stupid. Father sent for engineers, but they wouldn’t do a thing until Spring. Couldn’t tell where the water came from and didn’t even take a serious interest.” She sighed now. The ebullient Trixy was at last revealing herself. “Then Sherry’s health failed and he sailed away!”
Gloria’s arms were trying to show her sympathy. She was too overcome to speak, but Trixy went on:
“Until you came, Glo, I was just a wreck. Of course we don’t call it love, but Sherry is a wonderful boy and certainly talented.”
“And people around here are so—so uncharitable!” breathed Gloria. She knew now that every one associated with the Echo Park venture was being made subject to public censure.
“Yes, I know. Sherry isn’t here but I can’t help hearing their continuous slurs!” Trixy looked mature and very handsome just now, this young girl with the lilt of the lark and the heart of a dove, thought Gloria.
“But we’ve done something,” Gloria said. “This is at least an attempt at reparation. Poor little Aunt Lottie! That her money should have worked such misery!”
The big car swung into the lane again, and the round capable face of Mrs. Berg was unmistakably in the group that peered out as they came.
Just how the final arrangements were made no one could tell, for confusion developed into veritable Bedlam. But the two girls willingly enough found their own places in the car, while Jane delayed to make sure that Marty would go over to Logan Center, first thing next morning. Mrs. Berg, fortified with a ten dollar bill from Trixy, had agreed to give up her place at cooking for some overburdened farm woman, and stay with the Gorman children until their mother “was cured.” She also added that crowning feat of wonder—she would notify the absent Mr. Gorman.