"That sigh must have been for Mrs. Flinders; it couldn't have been for Charlotte," said her mother.
"I've brought a trophy," announced Rob, coming into the room like a western breeze, eyes dancing and cheeks reddened by the October wind.
"Dear Charlotte, you are always the most welcome!" exclaimed Mrs. Grey, her voice tenderly caressing, while Wythie wound her arm around their beloved "Cousin Peace," as her other hand unfastened her coat.
"Robin insisted that I should not be in the way, and I did want so much to come that I am afraid it didn't take strong arguments to convince me that she was right," said the blind woman. "It is always good and better to come here."
"Why there's little Polly Flinders and her mother!" exclaimed Rob. "Now I wonder what has happened!"
She went to admit these last arrivals as she spoke, and Mrs. Flinders came gauntly into the room, followed by Polly, clinging silently to her adored Rob's hand, as if she were frightened.
Mrs. Flinders seated herself on the edge of a chair and began nervously fingering the fold of the shawl in which she defied passing fashions of coats and capes. "Did you hear?" she asked. And the Greys knew that something serious had brought her to them.
"You didn't hear?" Mrs. Flinders substituted, as the Greys all shook their heads. "It happened day before yesterday. He's had a stroke and the doctor says he won't never be able to use his hands again. He can talk's good's ever, and it ain't affected his mind, but he's done with life till he dies."
"How dreadful!" murmured Mrs. Grey, struck by the dramatic form of this closing statement, and greatly shocked at the hard fate which had overtaken the farmer who for a long time had taken care of the Grey place, sharing its product with the owners.
"What—You haven't made any plans yet, I suppose, Mrs. Flinders?"