A sudden shower of potent April rain fell with sharp sound on Brooke’s seed packages. Gathering them together hastily, she pushed the chair up the sloping platform through the kitchen door that had been widened, and as she did so the fishing pole that the Cub had mended fell clattering to the floor. Stooping to pick it up she noticed that it caught her father’s eye, and as she held it toward him, he grasped it eagerly, saying softly to himself, “My new pole; to-morrow I’ll go fishing, if Enoch Fenton will play hookey too.”
The rain increased and by five o’clock had promised to settle into a steady pour that drew a curtain across the river, cut ruts in the roadway, and gullied the soft fields,—a class of storm dreaded in spring in a hillside country, and entirely the reverse of the traditional growing rain.
The Cub came in and hung his coat to drip in the porch, and even the water that ran from Pam’s grotesque and stubby tail made a puddle on the floor.
“I turned the cows out and shut the gate, because Mr. Fenton said I ought to from now on,” said the Cub, looking at the rain, and then gauging the wind, as it tore downhill, like a veritable native. “I guess I’ll go back and let ’em in again, just this once. No, I don’t want an umbrella, it’ll only go bust,” he added, as he stepped out the door, closing it with much difficulty against the rising tide of wind and rain.
Brooke, who had proffered the umbrella, stood watching him through the glass half-door, and then a dark object coming up the cross-road drew her attention. At first she could not make out whether it was man or woman; then, while she was still in doubt, the screening umbrella broke loose from its fastenings and, turning completely inside out, showed that its carrier was a woman.
“Mother, please come here and see if you can tell me who this is struggling up the road. Can it be Mrs. Peck? She is the only human being hereabouts who does not keep a horse!” But the figure proved to be too tall and straight to belong to the widow, who not only had settled and gone to flesh, but was somewhat listed as well.
“When she reaches the house, whoever she may be, I would ask her in. It may be some one who has come up by the trolley on the lower road expecting to be met; better go and open the front door,” said Mrs. Lawton, hastening to light the lamps, which were her special care.
Brooke started to act upon the suggestion, but as she gave a final look she saw that the woman had already turned into the barn lane, and, though evidently almost spent, was coming across to the kitchen door with a directness that betokened familiarity. So Brooke returned to the side door and, opening it a crack, held it against the racking wind. As the gust swept through the house, Tatters, who had been lying in the hallway, arose, gave a growl, then a sniff, and, with his tail beginning to swing in a circle, nosed open the door, in spite of his mistress’s effort to stop him, and threw himself violently against the dripping figure coming up the cobbled path, who seemed to grapple with him.
“Back, Tatters! come back!” called Brooke, letting go her hold of the door, which swung back with a clatter, as she clapped her hands to attract the dog’s attention.