Mrs. Randall, who had no children of her own, had a mother's heart for all: she had been longing to get out to this bachelor's establishment ever since it was set up, but the doctor was always too busy. She was going to make the best of the opportunity, and if this "boy" had any need her bright eyes could see, she was resolved to help him fill it.
"Go get your hat, Edward; we'll all come in afterwards."
And the young man ran back up the steps, all his pretty speeches unsaid.
"We'll go out to the vineyard first," suggested the professor, hurrying ahead, with Mrs. Randall close behind him, in the narrow path beaten along the tangle of yellow Jerusalem apples and prickly Spanish needles and wild grasses.
The farm was still in sorry order. The ground of the orchard close to the house was covered with tangled, browning weeds, in some of the trees the late winesaps shone red and ruddy. Frances stopped to fill her hands with them.
"Don't eat those; I have some splendid ones in the house for you."
"These are fine!" She set her white teeth in the red fruit. "I like these best, I like to pull them."
"Eve!" he bantered.
"Are they forbidden?"
"Nothing is, here; it's all yours—" he began eagerly.