"Dere goes Ellen," Aunt Maggie said, as her elder daughter went past them the sooner to get to her work. "You an' I believes as de door o' heben's open ter dem as walks slow. I's glad you kin laugh, honey. We ain't lose Tom fer good. An' soon de winter'll come, an' moe folks a-staying at de great house, an' den de summer an' de dear boy home ag'in."
Talking on in slow, comfortable phrases, stopping often to get her breath, Hertha's mammy walked with her among the pines to their tidy front yard where golden glow and asters told of the autumn.
"It seems later than it is, doesn't it?" said Hertha, "we've been up so long. I think I'll go to Miss Patty right now."
There were two paths to the great house. The well-traveled one led past a number of cabins, and ended near the kitchen door. It was the shorter but Hertha chose a more attractive way among the pines to where a cypress marked the beginning of the orange grove. She had taken this route long before Lee Merryvale's return; and while he had closed it generally to dwellers among the pines, Miss Patty assured her maid she could use it as much as she wished.
She had only walked a little way when she saw Merryvale himself examining his cherished possessions.
"Come over here, won't you?" he called out. "There's no one up at the house yet."
Hertha went shyly toward him. He was a handsome man with reddish gold hair, clear eyes, and a glowing skin. His hat was off, he wore a soft shirt with collar thrown open, and altogether looked an attractive combination of the farmer and the gentleman.
As she came up he said sympathetically, "You must be feeling pretty badly to-day at saying good-by to Tom."
"Yes," said Hertha, and added almost confidentially, "you see, Tom's the baby. I took care of him when he wasn't any longer than that," indicating the length with her hands.
"You couldn't have been much longer yourself."