But to my surprise he took the flowers listlessly, and when I glanced around after a few moments I saw that he had set the pitcher down on the floor and was leaning back in the chair with closed eyes. I went and stood at his side, but he did not open his eyes.
“Tired, Joey?”
He yawned. “Terrible tired, Mr. David.”
I looked at him irresolutely, then gathered him up in my arms.
“Come along, old fellow, lie down on your bed in the cedar room, and sleep till supper’s ready,” I suggested.
His hand stroked my cheek with the old caress. He yawned again. I lifted him and carried him to the cedar room and placed him on the bed. I took off his shoes and drew the shawl-flower quilt over him. He spoke then:
“Tell Wanza when she comes, to wake me first thing. I love Bell Brandon—but I love Wanza best. I guess—I’ll—sleep pretty good—with this dear old quilt over me—” his voice grew indistinct, he stretched, blinked once or twice, closed his eyes, and snuggled luxuriously into his pillows. I tiptoed from the room.
In the front room I sat down by the window, took Haidee’s letter from my pocket and read it.
“I hope nothing will prevent you from meeting Joey in Spokane,” I read. “I have heard nothing from you on that point. But I am almost sure you received my letter telling you of my illness and inability to travel, and asking you to meet Joey on the fifth. I cannot but believe Bill Jobson’s story—strange as it seems. My own little boy is gone forever.
“When you receive this Joey will be with you—there in the old place that he loves so dearly. And you—how you will rejoice to have your lad again. Bless you both! David Dale, I shall not visit Hidden Lake this summer,—I have learned much in these past months. Do you not know your own heart yet? I have read carefully, searchingly all the letters you have written me this past winter, and I find Wanza, Wanza, between the lines. She is the true mate for you—can you not see this? Do you not feel it? Do you not know you love her—as she loves you? I knew I should reach a happy solution of our problem—given the much needed perspective; and the solution is this—you love Wanza Lyttle, and I care for you only as a dear, kind friend.