“They look good, father. If you don’t mind I’ll get a knife and try one. It’s been a long time since I ate an apple.”
She brought herself a plate and knife from the pantry, and sat down near him. A gentler impulse had taken hold of her. She owed her father honor and respect; he was an old man, and at his age men were entitled to their whims. She won him to a more companionable mood than she had known in him before.
“I remember, father, a queer old table service that used to be here,—very heavy pieces, with a curious, big flower pattern. I haven’t seen it about anywhere; but I haven’t done much looking. Probably Polly knows where it is.”
“To be sure. I seem to remember it. It’s probably in the attic. The attic’s full of things.”
“I should like to explore it. I remember attics very pleasantly from my youth. There was Uncle Rodney’s. He always had the most curious things in his garret.”
“Yes, yes. Rodney is a very strange man.”
He looked at her sharply; evidently the girl did not understand the idiosyncrasies of the family relationship. Julia Forrest, his sister-in-law, was a more discreet woman than he had imagined.
“But about the attic,—I’ll give you the basket of keys, Zee, just as your mother left it. There is probably much rubbish that ought to be thrown away. No doubt there are things that might be given to the poor.” He bowed his head almost imperceptibly, as though in humble acknowledgment of all the beatitudes. Zelda took his plate and he rose and left the room. He walked lightly, and with an elastic step that was out of keeping with his appearance of age.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he called, and he went up stairs, returning presently, carrying a small basket filled with keys.
“These are yours, my daughter,” he said, and waved his hand with a little touch of manner.