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Page 62
"Do you really go so soon?"
"Our lease is out next week, you know."
"Really; so soon as that?"
"It isn't soon. We have lived here nearly eight months."
"What a good time we have all had in this little house!" cried Geoff,
regretfully. "It has been a sort of warm little centre to us homeless
people all winter."
"You don't count yourself among the homeless ones, I hope, with such a
pleasant place as the High Valley to live in."
"Oh, the hut is all very well in its way, of course; but I don't look at
it as a home exactly. It answers to eat and sleep in, and for a shelter
when it rains; but you can't make much more of it than that. The only time
it ever seemed home-like in the least was when you and Mrs. Hope were
there. That week spoiled it for me for all time."
"That's a pity, if it's true, but I hope it isn't. It was a delightful
week, though; and I think you do the valley an injustice. It's a beautiful
place. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to get supper."
"Let me help you."
"Oh, there is almost nothing to do. I'd much rather you would sit still
and rest. You are tired from your ride, I'm sure; and if you don't mind,
I'll bring my blazer and cook the oysters here by the fire. I always did
like to 'kitch in the dining-room,' as Mrs. Whitney calls it."
Clover had set the tea-table before she sat down to sew, so there really
was almost nothing to do. Geoff lay back in his chair and looked on with a
sort of dreamy pleasure as she went lightly to and fro, making her
arrangements, which, simple as they were, had a certain dainty quality
about them which seemed peculiar to all that Clover did,--twisted a trail
of kinnikinnick about the butter-plate, laid a garnish of fresh parsley on
the slices of cold beef, and set a glass full of wild crocuses in the
middle of the table. Then she returned to the parlor, put the kettle,
which had already begun to sing, on the fire, and began to stir and season
her oysters, which presently sent out a savory smell.
"I have learned six ways of cooking oysters this winter," she announced
gleefully. "This is a dry-pan-roast. I wonder if you'll approve of it. And
I wonder why Phil doesn't come. I wish he would make haste, for these are
nearly done."
"There he is now," remarked Geoff.
But instead it was Dr. Hope's office-boy with a note.
DEAR C.,--Mrs. Hope wants me for a fourth hand at whist, so I'm
staying, if you don't mind. She says if it didn't pour so she'd
ask you to come too. P.
"Well, I'm glad," said Clover. "It's been a dull day for him, and now
he'll have a pleasant evening, only he'll miss you."
"I call it very inconsiderate of the little scamp," observed Geoff. "He
doesn't know but that he's leaving you to spend the evening quite alone."
"Oh, boys don't think of things like that."
"Boys ought to, then. However, I can stand his absence, if you can!"
It was a very merry little meal to which they presently sat down, full of
the charm which the unexpected brings with it. Clover had grown to regard
Geoff as one of her very best friends, and was perfectly at her ease with
him, while to him, poor lonely fellow, such a glimpse of cosey home-life
was like a peep at Paradise. He prolonged the pleasure as much as
possible, ate each oyster slowly, descanting on its flavor, and drank more
cups of tea than were at all good for him, for the pleasure of having
Clover pour them out. He made no further offers of help when supper was
ended, but looked on with fascinated eyes as she cleared away and made
things tidy.
At last she finished and came back to the fire. There was a silence. Geoff
was first to break it. "It would seem like a prison to you, I am afraid,"
he said abruptly.
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