|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 36
"I'm glad that I happened along to take you under my wing," he said.
"You ought not to be out alone on the streets at night."
"It isn't six o'clock yet," she answered. "And this is the first time
that I had no escort arranged for. Mrs. Boyd always comes with me. She's
little and meek, but her white hair counts for a lot. She would have
gone to the station with me, but she and Lucy are dining out. We girls
will be all alone to-night. I wish they were not expecting you out at
Eugenia's to dinner. I'd take you back with me. I have prepared quite a
company spread, things that you especially like."
"There's a telephone out to the place," he suggested. "I could easily
let them know if I missed my train, and I could easily miss it--if my
invitation were pressing enough."
"Then _do_ miss it," she insisted, smiling up at him so cordially that
he laughed and said in a complacent tone, "We'll consider it done. I'll
telephone Eugenia from the station, that I'll not be out till morning.
Really," he added a moment later, "it will be more like a sure-enough
home-coming to come back to you and that little chatterbox of a Mary
than to go out to my brother's. Eugenia is a dear, but I've never known
her except as a bride or a dignified young matron, so of course we have
no youthful experiences in common to hark back to together. That is the
very back-bone of a family reunion in my opinion. Now that year in
Arizona, when you all took me in as one of yourselves, is about all that
I can remember of real home-life, and somehow, when I think of home, it
is the Wigwam that I see, and the good cheer and the jolly times that I
always found there."
Joyce looked up again, touched and pleased. "I'm so glad that you feel
that way, for we always count you in, right after Jack and the little
boys. Mamma always speaks of you as 'my other' boy, and as for Mary, she
quotes you on all occasions, and thinks you are very near perfection.
She is going to be so delighted when she sees you, that I'd not be a bit
surprised if she should jump up and down and squeal, right in the
station."
The mention of this old habit of Mary's brought up to each of them the
mental picture of the child, as she had looked on various occasions when
her unbounded pleasure was forced to find expression in that way. In
the year that Joyce had been away from her she had been in her thoughts
oftener as that quaint little creature of eight, than the sixteen-year
old school girl she had grown into.
Phil, too, accustomed to thinking of Mary as he had known her at the
Wigwam, could hardly believe he saw aright, when the train pulled in and
she flew down the steps to throw her arms around Joyce. It was the same,
lovable, eager little face that looked up into his, the same impetuous
unspoiled child, yet a second glance left him puzzled. There was some
intangible change he could not label, and it interested him to try to
analyze it.
She was taller, of course, almost as tall as Joyce, with skirts almost
as long, but it was not that which impressed him with the sense of
change. It was a certain girlish winsomeness, something elusive, which
cannot be defined, but which lends a charm like nothing else in all the
world to the sweet unfolding of early maidenhood.
If Phil had been asked to describe the girl that Mary would grow into,
he never would have pictured this development. He expected her desert
experiences to give her a strong forceful character. She would be like
the pioneer women of early times, he imagined; rugged and energetic and
full of resources. But he had not expected this gentleness of manner,
this unconscious dignity and a certain poise that reminded him of--he
was puzzled to think of what it _did_ remind him. Later, it came to him,
as he continued to watch her. Not for naught had Mary set up a shrine to
her idolized Princess Winsome and striven to grow like her in every way
possible. Not in feature, of course, but often in manner there was a
fleeting, shadowy undefinable something that recalled her.
In her younger days she would have appropriated Phil as her rightful
audience, and would have swung along beside him, amusing him with her
original and unsolicited opinions of everything they passed. But a
strange shyness seized her when she looked up and saw how much older he
was in reality than he had been in her recollections. She had no answer
ready when he began his accustomed teasing. Instead she clung to Joyce
when they left the street-car, leaving Betty to walk with Phil as they
threaded their way through the crowded thoroughfares. It was so good to
be with her again, and as they hurried along she squeezed the arm linked
in hers to emphasize her delight.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|