Mrs. Grey had a suspicion that this did not fully account for Rob's depression. She had heard from Wythie of her fears of Rob's bad treatment of Bruce that morning when they had set out together for Miss Charlotte's, but she was far too wise to ask a question or to hint at a more personal trouble in Rob's mind than the operation pending for little crippled Jimmy. She reflected that there was a remedy for this sort of complaint less difficult than a surgeon's knife, a remedy more likely to be taken when not recommended by onlookers.
Hester and her mother were staying up on the hill, occupying the rooms which Hester's tactful kindness had secured for them in Myrtle's house, thus giving the young widow just the additional income needed to smooth her hard path.
Rob went up to get Hester to go with her to Green Pastures on the morning when the experiment was to be tried which, if it should succeed, would restore Jimmy to his place among fully living people. And which would bring high honour to Bruce, whose theory of Jimmy's trouble was to be worked upon—perhaps this thought, not less than interest in Jimmy, sent Rob's feet rapidly on her way.
They were to operate at nine that lovely late September morning; by half-past ten the girls felt that they might venture to Green Pastures without being in the way. They could not talk on their way over, but hurried along in silence, eyes dilated and breath quick as the thoughts of both concentrated on what might be awaiting them at their destination.
Green Pastures looked cheerful as they neared it. It had undergone improving and enriching at the hands of its young founders, and the old, barren look that it wore in the purely Flinders days had been merged in beauty of flowers and cultivation. Aunt Azraella had endowed it with a fund for keeping it in order, since paralysed Mr. Flinders could never work about his farm again, and Aaron, who had for so long made the hill house conspicuous in Fayre for its well-kept grounds, and who still looked after it for Myrtle, was responsible for the outward well-being of Green Pastures, also.
No one was in sight as Hester and Rob reached the gate, but when its latch clicked there swung around the corner on her crutches one of the children whom it sheltered, and who bore down on the girls with the speed in which she surpassed her comrades in misfortune.
"Oh, say," she called in that New York Eastside accent which is altogether incommunicable by printed signs. "Say, dey's been woikin' at Jimmy an' he's t'rough. Got his senses back all right. He's doin' fine. But, say, ain't it fierce? De knife slipped an' jammed de doctor, de young one, dat frien' er you's. Stuck him right in de hoit. He's huyt somethin' fierce. I heayd he wouldn't git over it." The child's eye gleamed with the fire of the born romancer, but neither Rob nor Hester saw it, nor stopped to remember that this was Nellie, whose tendency to fabricate troubled them more than her lameness.
They clutched each other, and the colour went out of Rob's face, leaving her so ghastly white that Hester put her arm around her and half carried her into the house. Mrs. Flinders was not in evidence, and they pushed open the door of what had been the Flinders' living-room, but which had been appropriated to the children for a play-room because of its generous morning sunshine.
There, in the flood of September's sunny warmth, in the window sat Bruce, the other two little girls, one on each knee, resting their heads confidingly on his shoulders while, his arms around their thin bodies, he busied himself with constructing something of cardboard for their amusement. Bruce's eyes were bent upon his work, but his face looked peaceful, with a certain strength and proud confidence in the lines of his mouth that told the story of that morning's work. The whole scene was so full of peace and security that Rob's brain reeled, and Hester uttered a glad cry.
At that Bruce looked up smiling, but his face changed as he saw Rob's deathly look, and he set the children down quickly and gently, crossing over to the girls.