At the gate he met Allan, returning from spending a social hour with the grant boys.
"Where going, Dad?" the younger man demanded.
"Oh, I thought I'd take a walk over t' Riles'. There's a lot o' things t' talk about."
"What's the matter, Dad?" The strained composure of his father's voice had not escaped him.
"Nothin'…I might's well tell you now; you'll know it in a little while anyway…Your mother is goin' away—on a visit."
"Like Beulah's visit, I suppose. So it's come to this. I've seen it for some time, Dad, and you must 've seen it too. But you're not really goin' to let her go? Come back to the house with me—surely you two can get together on this thing, if you try."
"I have tried," said Harris, "and it's no use. She's got those notions like Beulah—quittin' work, and twilights and sunsets and all that kind o' thing. There's no use talkin' with her; reason don't count for anything. I gave her a good pocketful of money, and told her to write for more when she needed it. She'll get over her notions pretty soon when she gets among strangers. Go in and have a talk with her, boy; there's no use you bein' at outs with her, too. As for me, I can't do anything more."
"I suppose you know best," he answered, "but it seems—hang it, it's against all reason that you two—that this should happen."
"Of course it is. That's what I said a minute ago. But reason don't count just now. But you have your talk with her, and give her any help you can if she wants t' get away at once."
Allan found his mother in her room, packing a trunk and gently weeping into it. He laid his hand upon her, and presently he found her work-worn frame resting in his strong arms.