The boys joined in the laugh, but Mrs. Watson repeated her point.
"Cold it was, sure enough, but think o' me up frettin' and fumin', and you come down as cheerful as if starvation wasn't starin' us in the face."
"But we didn't starve, Ma," said Billy, coming to his father's defense, "the crop was all right for feed, and we did well after all. You had all your frettin' for nothing."
"It's that way mostly," said John Watson, "I never saw any good yet in frettin'. Anyway, Ma does enough of it for all of us, so that lets me out. There's the two kinds of Irish—them that don't fret over anything—and them that frets over every thing—that's me and you, Ma—and it works out fine—it runs about even. You've always been so sure that things were goin' wrong, I've just had to be a little surer that they wern't. And then of course I knew that night that you would watch the frost—if there was any watchin' to it."
"John, it is well for you that you have some one to do your watchin'," said Mrs. Watson. "You're an easy goin' man, John, but I'll say this for you, that a better natured man never lived."
When all the family had gone to bed, and the last sound had died out in the house, Pearl stood long at the window and looked out at the moonlit valley. The warm day had melted the frost from the window, and when she put out the lamp, the moonlight seemed almost as clear as day. Silvery-mauve and blue it lay on the quiet, snowy fields, with a deeper color on the trees, as if they had wound yards and yards of the gauzy stuff around their bare shoulders, for the night was chilly. To Pearl it was even more beautiful than the sunshine of the day, for in its silvery stillness, she could think and dream without interruption.
The night was too beautiful to sleep, and the riot of joy in her heart made her forget that anyone ever grew weary or tired. She was part of the moonlight, with its glistening witchery, part of the overarching sky, with its wealth of glittering stars, part of the velvety night wind that caressed the trees in its gentle passing. Her young soul was in tune with them all! For the greatest thing in life had come to her in those few common-place words that had come to her over the telephone. He had not forgotten—he was coming tomorrow!
The tired note in his voice had awakened an entirely new chord in the song her heart sang. He needed her. He needed some one to look after him, care for him, watch him, save him from the hundred little worrying things that were sapping his energy. People did not understand that he ever got tired—he was so strong, so buoyant, so ready to do things for them. Well, there will be someone now, thought Pearl, with a glow that surged through her veins and made her cheeks flame, to take care of him.
"Is the doctor in, Mrs. Clay?"
"He is—but he's sleeping—maybe I can tell you what you want to know—step in here—so he won't hear us—he was out all night—and he must not be wakened…."