She found Mrs. Abbot in. The little sitting-room in the doctor's house was delightfully homelike and comfortable. There was nothing pretentious about it—just solid comfort. And the great radiating stove in the center of it smelt invitingly warm to the girl as she came in out of the raw night air. Mrs. Abbot was alternating between a basket of sewing and a well-worn, cheap-edition novel. The old lady was waiting with patience, the outcome of experience, for the return of her lord to his supper.
"Well, 'Aunt' Margaret," said Jacky, entering with the confidence of an assured welcome, "I've come over for a good gossip. There's nobody at home—up there," with a nod in the direction of the ranch.
"My dear child, I'm so pleased," exclaimed Mrs. Abbot, coming forward from her rather rigid seat, and kissing the girl on both cheeks with old-fashioned cordiality. "Come and sit by the stove—yes, take that hideous hat off, which, by the way, I never could understand your wearing. Now, when John and I were first en—"
"Yes, yes, dear. I know what you're going to say," interrupted the girl, smiling in spite of the dull aching at her heart. She knew how this sweet old lady lived in the past, and she also knew how, to a sympathetic ear, she loved to pour out the delights of memory from a heart overflowing with a strong affection for the man of her choice. Jacky had come here to talk of other matters, and she knew that when "Aunt" Margaret liked she could be very shrewd and practical.
Something in the half-wistful smile of her companion brought the old lady quickly back from the realms of recollection, and a pair of keen, kindly eyes met the steady gray-black orbs of the girl.
"Ah, Jacky, my child, we of the frivolous sex are always being forced into considering the mundane matters of everyday life here at Foss River. What is it, dear? I can see by your face that you are worrying over something."
The girl threw herself into an easy chair, drawn up to the glowing stove with careful forethought by the old lady. Mrs. Abbot reseated herself in the straight-backed chair she usually affected. She carefully put her book on one side and took up some darning, assiduously inserting the needle but without further attempt at work. It was something to fix her attention on whilst talking. Old Mrs. Abbot always liked to be able to occupy her hands when talking seriously. And Jacky's face told her that this was a moment for serious conversation.
"Where's the Doc?" the girl asked without preamble. She knew, of course, but she used the question by way of making a beginning.
The old lady imperceptibly straightened her back. She now anticipated the reason of her companion's coming. She glanced over the top of a pair of gold pince-nez, which she had just settled comfortably upon the bridge of her pretty, broad nose.
"He's down at the saloon playing poker. Why, dear?"