“Just the same,” said the Guardian, “being what you are, Winona, I’d venture to promise you that in the long run you will get more happiness out of being happy than out of having fun.”
Winona laughed as she kissed her good-bye.
“I’m going to plan ways for glorifying work and being happy all the way down on the train,” she said, “but I haven’t any—well—thoroughly planned—yet!”
It was nearly nightfall when Winona reached home, for she had not started till a late afternoon train. She found her mother established in the living-room, where a door opening on the hall gave her a good view of the kitchen, and Clay in it. She looked well, but tired, and her foot was bandaged and on a pillow.
“You’re sure you didn’t mind coming home, dear?” was the first thing her mother said. “It was a shame you had to!”
Winona had to reassure her mother so fervently about her being willing to come back, and even liking to, that she began to find she really did! It was pleasant there, after all. The garden was full of blooming flowers, and it was a cool, pleasant day.
“What shall I do first, mother?” she asked, as she and Florence sat each with one of their mother’s hands, and tried to tell her all about everything at once.
“The first thing for you to do,” said Mrs. Merriam, “is to get baths and put on cool dresses, both of you, and come down to dinner. Your father and Clay are getting it. You aren’t to do a thing till to-morrow, dear. You must be tired with your trip.”
“I don’t think anything could tire me!” said Winona blithely. And she and Florence, as each of them in turn took baths in the one thing a camp doesn’t possess—a bathtub—felt that it was good to be home and have mother pet you, after all!