“But now your father is worth a million and—and my face is dirty.” They had stopped near the conservatory, and he saw himself in a window that greenery behind had turned into a mirror, and laughed not quite mirthfully.
She caught his hand—hard and grimy—in her soft ones. “Your heart isn’t dirty, Billy. And I want you to remember always that I think you are the very best boy in the world.”
They laughed lightly, and Billy ran off, and that day the shovel was light.
May Nell and her mother went away, the servants were given a vacation, and the house closed. It looked rather lonely when Billy came in the early evening. He had a room in the garage, and was to be on duty practically all of the time. This was not arduous, for the entire place was enclosed in a high barbed-wire fence, as effective as if not hidden by honeysuckle, wild rose, and clematis; and at night the gates were locked and two Great Danes policed the grounds.
The first evening was a test of Billy’s courage, not because anything happened, but because it was the first night of his life absolutely away from human beings. And also because his mind was with Mr. Smith, wondering what was happening, and magnifying the danger.
Morning came, and a telephone message saying, “Nothing doing; the blackmailers caught on.” And Billy almost forgot to be glad, so disappointed was he at the tame ending of his adventure.
As the day passed, he knew something was going on in the forest. Soft voices came occasionally above the roar of the falls and the clink of iron; and in the evening he detected the odor of fresh coffee and toasting bacon. And Billy knew—Mr. Smith was crossing the boulevard!
Visitors and men on business, applying at the gate or by telephone, soon lessened; and the rest and time for reading stimulated Billy to thought of things unremembered during the months of hard work. Each day he opened and aired the house, and found in the library books that made the hours short.
Vague ideas he had hardly glimpsed for the flag design now took shape. The banner of the city! It must be a noble idea, yet simple, one that all would love; and it must be like the city,—the City of Green Hills. It was also a city of blue waters and bluer skies.
Each day he dreamed over it till at last the idea bodied itself in a spire-crowned, forest-enfolded hill, with a sea at its base and the declining sun on the far horizon. A shallop in full sail was setting forth toward the sun.