"Did you ever hear of such a thing—walking in like that and telling me 'I'm Laurence's father!' Cool as a cucumber! I never saw such an old man!"
"How did Laurence take it?"
"Well, there never was any love lost between them, you know—he was taken aback at first, but they seemed to get on well enough."
"And he's gone?"
"The old gentleman? Yes—went to Chicago today. He said he'd drop in and see us again some time!"
She laughed quite gaily as she went out.
It had occurred to her to see if the garden at the back of the house was neglected too, so she went round that way. Yes, the grass-borders were unkempt, the only flowers were straggling marigolds and asters; dahlias blackened by frost drooped forlornly. No wonder, he hadn't strength now to keep it up. But she thought back and seemed to see that from the time of her mother's death the garden had been running down. "I guess he misses her more than he thinks," she reflected.
She stood looking into the orchard, where among almost bare boughs a few red apples still clung. She felt a desire to go on into the pasture and look at the deep still pool there, which she had not seen for long. She remembered the look of it well—how as a child it had fascinated and frightened her, even haunting her dreams.... But the pasture was trampled by cows, and in this dress and these thin shoes....
She turned to go home, wrapping her mantle round her. The wind was rising, blowing out of a bank of cloud that now covered the western sky. A few sunset embers glimmered there low down. In the wind sweeping over the prairie there was a low booming sound and when the gusts rose higher an ominous whistle. A storm was coming, out of those immense, endless stretches to the west.