After a short delay the surgeon put his arm through Kit’s, and the three walked across the yard toward the patient. It was a terribly trying moment for Kit. The impulse to rush forward and clasp his father’s hands was almost irresistible, but he restrained himself.
Before they were half way across the yard, “John Doe,” now John Doe no longer, but Christopher Silburn, hearing footsteps, turned and looked around. Recognizing the surgeon, he nodded to him, and was about to resume his walk, when something about their party attracted his attention. He looked again, and turned his steps toward them—not in his former aimless way, but as if he had an object in view. In a moment more Kit and his father were face to face.
“Now what’s kept you all this time, Kit?” Mr. Silburn asked, in an annoyed tone. “When I send you on an errand, I want you to do it and come straight home. I will not have this sort of thing.”
It was so utterly different from anything he had anticipated that Kit was completely taken off his guard. But as soon as he recovered himself he was filled with joy at being recognized at all. He must, he knew, humor his father’s mood, and lead him gradually along.
“I got here as soon as I could, father,” he answered, in a tone as tender as a girl’s. “There were some things I had to do for mother first.”
“Where is mother?” Mr. Silburn asked, looking around as if he expected to find her behind him.
“She’s in the house—at home,” Kit answered.
“And Vieve?” he asked.
“She’s at home, too.”
“Well, you must do your mother’s errands, of course,” Mr. Silburn went on. “But I don’t like to have you away so long, Kit. I’ve been wanting you to bring me my other clothes. I can’t find them anywhere, but they must be some place around the house. I’m tired of these gray ones.”