Old Time, the unfailing, who always marches apace, bringing with him changes for good or evil, brought the dear old doctor back to the Fall Place—brought the small Adam Hoyle, with his queer little twisted neck and hunched back, drawn by harness and plaster into a much improved condition, although not straight yet—brought many letters from David filled with postponements and regrets therefor—and brought also a little son for Cassandra to hold to her bosom and dream and pray over.
And the dreams and the prayers travelled far—far, to the sunny-haired Englishman wrapped in the intricate affairs of a great estate. How much money would accrue? How should it be spent? What improvements should be made in their country home? When Laura's coming out should be? How many of her old companions might she retain? How many might she call friends? How many were to be hereafter thrust out as quite impossible? Should she be allowed a kennel, or should her sporting tendencies be discouraged?
All these things were forced upon David's consideration; how then could he return to his young wife, especially when he could not yet bring himself to say to his world that he had a young wife. Impatient he might be, nervous, and even irritable, but still what could he do? While there in the faraway hills sat Cassandra, loving him, brooding over him with serene and peaceful longing, holding his baby to her white breast, holding his baby's hand to her lips, full of courage, strong in her faith, patient in spirit, until as days and weeks passed she grew well and strong in body.
Being sadly in need of rest, the old doctor lingered on in the mountains until spring was well advanced. Slight of body, but vigorous and wiry, and as full of scientific enthusiasm as when he was thirty years younger, he tramped the hills, taking long walks and climbs alone, or shorter ones with Hoyle at his heels like a devoted dog, shrilling questions as he ran to keep up. These the good doctor answered according to his own code, or passed over as beyond possibility of reply with quizzical counter-questioning.
They sat together one day, eating their luncheon in the shelter of a great wall of rock, and below them lay a pool of clear water which trickled from a spring higher up. Now and then a bullfrog would sound his deep bass note, and all the time the high piping of the peepers made shrill accompaniment to their voices as they conversed.
The doctor had made an aquarium for Hoyle, using a great glass jar which he obtained from a druggist in Farington. They had come to-day on a quest for snails to eat the green growth, which had so covered the sides of the jar as to hide the interesting water world within from the boy's eyes. Many things had already occurred in that small world to set the boy thinking.
"Doctah Hoyle, you remembeh that thar quare bunch of leetle sticks an' stones you put in my 'quar'um first day you fixed hit up fer me?"
"Yes, yes."
"Well, the' is a right quare thing with a big hade come outen hit, an' he done eat up some o' the leetle black bugs. I seed him jump quicker'n lightnin' at that leetlist fish only so long, an' try to bite a piece outen his fin—his lowest fin. What did he do that fer?"
"Why—why—he was hungry. He made his dinner off the little black bugs, and he wanted the fin for his dessert."