“What else are you doing, Nathan? Good night, dear. I’ve got to go in! It’s getting lighter and lighter.”
“I’ll be at the station to see you off if I have to lock dad in a closet to do it!”
“Your dad! I hope he’ll feel satisfied with what he’s done! He’s made a good job of it—and you!”
Up the steps she crept stealthily and into the house. Though she waved him good-by at the door, the boy was miserable. But she was gone and nothing remained but for him to go also.
The Forge box-shop was never notable thereafter for any untoward spiritualistic phenomena.
VII
It rained that morning. A steady drizzle continued to fall in the aftermath of the thunderstorm. At the breakfast table Nathan had looked his father straight in the eye and announced:
“Dad, Carol Gardner’s leaving town for Ohio this morning. I’m going down to see her off!”
Johnathan was angered by the way his son spoke. But he decided, after all, he could afford to be magnanimous. A boy Nat’s age ought to begin to have a few privileges.
“I understand,” the father answered. And he prepared to leave for the shop as though it was quite the usual thing.