“I suppose you’ll be on your way to town early?” asked Blair, as he rose.
“Guess I’ll not break camp to-morrow. Genie is tired. And I won’t mind a little rest. Hope we’ll see you again.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
* * * * *
When he was gone, Adam took to pacing along the edge of the oaks. In the light of the camp fire he saw the gleam of Genie’s wide-open eyes. She had heard every word of Adam’s conversation with young Blair. He felt a great sympathy for Genie. Like a child, she was face to face with new life, new sensations, poignant and bewildering. How might he best help her?
* * * * *
Next morning, when Adam returned from a look around, he discovered Genie up, puttering at the camp fire. She greeted him with undue cheerfulness. She was making a heroic effort to show that this situation was perfectly natural. She did pretty well, but Adam’s keen eyes and sense gathered that Genie felt herself on the verge of great and tremendous events.
After breakfast Adam asked Genie to accompany him to the farmhouse. She went, but the free, lithe step wanted something of its old grace. Adam espied the children in the yard, and now he took cognizance of them. Tommy was a ragged, tousle-headed, chubby little rascal, ruddy cheeked and blue eyed. Betty resembled the lad, Eugene, having his fine dark eyes and open countenance. Hal was the largest, a red-headed, freckle-faced imp if Adam ever saw one. They regarded the newcomers with considerable interest. Genie approached them and offered to swing Betty, who was sitting in a clumsy little hammock-like affair made of barrel staves. And Adam, seeing the children’s mother at the door, went that way.
“Good morning, Mrs. Blair!” he said. “We’ve come over to chat a bit and see your youngsters.”
She greeted them smilingly, and came out wiping her hands on her apron. “Goodness knows we’re glad to have you. Gene has gone to work. Won’t you sit on the bench here?...”