"Yes, entirely. And the best of it is the realization that you are busy in your old home and do not stay in it merely for Patty and me."
"Oh, I couldn't keep away! This place grips me. It's well enough to go to New York for a month to study the market, but this is the land of my choice, darkies and all. I wish they could do a good day's work; but, then, I don't pay them for a day's work, white man's reckoning."
A few steps further brought them to the tree where he and Hertha had first played together.
The older man stopped again. "Why, here's a blossom at the end of a bough," he said.
"Yes, but don't pick it!" Lee seized his father's arm. "I've a fancy to keep it there—for good luck," he added, somewhat lamely.
Over the blossom, the previous morning, Hertha had bent like a happy child, blowing upon the petals and calling on them to open.
"Lee!" The young man started at his father's voice; there was in it a note of admonition, almost of severity. But there was nothing of severity in the words that followed:
"I wish I could express to you my happiness that this old home that my father and my father's father loved and strove to make beautiful will now be guarded by you. And you will do better with it than we did."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Lee said.
"Yes, this is a mere fragment that comes into your hands."