Dalton dismissed him with a wave of the hand. "I won't let her get wet," he lifted Becky from the surrey and walked with her to his car.
Kemp, who had come down in the house truck with Madge's trunks, stood stiff and straight by the door. Being off with Miss MacVeigh he was on with Miss Bannister. Girls might come and girls might go in his master's life, but Kemp had an air of going on forever.
When he had seated Becky, Dalton stepped back and gave hurried instructions.
"At four, Kemp," he said, "or if you are later, wait until we come."
"Very well, sir." Kemp stood statuesquely at attention until the car whirled on. Then he sat down on the station platform, and talked to the agent. He was no longer a servant but a man.
As the big car whirled up the hill, Becky, looking out upon the familiar landscape, saw it with new eyes. There was a light upon it which had never been for her on sea or land. She had not believed that in all the world there could be such singing, blossoming radiance.
They drove through the old mill town and the stream was bright under the willows. They stopped on the bridge for a moment to view the shining bend.
"There are old chimneys under the vines," Becky said; "doesn't it seem dreadful to think of all those dead houses——"
George gave a quick turn. "Why think of them? You were not made to think of dead houses, you were made to live."