_SHE WAITS FOR US._
Early next morning Evan was at Henty's hotel.
"A. P.," he said, "all aboard for Hometon."
The old man looked up.
"Take him with you if you like, Mr. Nelson," he said; "but mind you
bring him back, and come along yourself. I've got a cook down home I
want you to taste."
Evan accepted the invitation and expressed hope that the cook was not
from Western Canada. A. P. jumped into his clothes.
"I'm ready," he said, soon; "have I time for breakfast?"
"No; get a banana on the way down town. Our folks will meet us at
Union Station."
They missed the Teeswater train, in spite of their hurrying, or,
perhaps, on account of their hurrying; and had to wait for the Owen
Sound.
"You couldn't guess who went out on the first train, Evan," whispered
Lou, looking wise.
"Frankie and Porter, I imagine," replied Evan, casually.
"How did you know?"
"Met Perry last night," answered the brother, briefly. "What are you
looking so queer about, Sis?"
"Oh, nothing," said Lou, disappointedly; "only I thought you would be
more interested than you are."
He made no reply, again to his sister's astonishment, but turned to
Henty.
"A. P.," he said, "we'll meet the girl you're going to marry, when we
get to Orangeville. We'll have to change from this train to hers."
A. P. blushed ridiculously, and so did Lou. Evan pretended not to
notice, and turned his attention to the luggage.
On the way to Orangeville father and son found each other interesting.
There was still a sparkle in George Nelson's eye. Back in a double
seat Henty was bravely endeavoring to take care of two ladies, mother
and daughter.
At Orangeville, as Perry was saying his farewells to Frankie, Lou
caught her eye and beckoned to her. Not having to pass the seat where
Evan and his father were, Frankie obeyed the summons. She was
introduced to Henty, and deliberately sat beside him. "The porter"
looked sourly around and disappeared. Evan caught a girl's eye in a
mirror and left his seat. Not having seen Frankie for three years and
a half he was somewhat prepared for a change, but not for the change
that had taken place. Her cheeks were no longer round and girlish, her
voice had changed, her eyes were older and more womanly-comprehending.
"Frankie," he said, taking the little hand she offered, "it seems
mighty good to get a look at you after--all that has happened."
He fully expected that she would show embarrassment--he was inwardly
excited himself--but she answered him calmly, while Lou looked on in
wonder:
"I've been looking at you for hours, Evan--on the platform; you are
quite famous _now_, you know. Everyone waits to get a peep at you."
There was a potent rebuke in her words. Evan felt it keenly. He made
an excuse to get back to his father.
Hometon was out with the town band to meet the Nelson party. Some of
the bankclerks had driven to the depot in hacks to meet him they called
their "New G. M."
The excitement did not appeal to Evan, but he readily forgave dear old
Hometon this one excess. There was a concert arranged in the town-hall
for the evening, which, of course, had to have a chairman.
Just before the concert began old Grandpa Newman nudged John, the
grocer, sitting beside him, and whispered huskily:
"It do beat all, John, the way people carry on nowadays. Now, in my
day--"
Luckily for the grocer, the band began to badly play a march. The
chairman grinned in his seat--in fancy he was transported to Albany
Avenue, Brooklyn, and listened again to the saloon bands of that
benighted street.
The day after the village dissipation Evan loitered around home playing
catch with Henty and Lou. He found they liked to have the ball tossed
midway between them, and did his best to be accommodating.
"Well, A. P.," he said, when Lou had given up the game to help get
lunch, "what do you think of Miss Arling?"
Henty blushed from his adam's-apple to the tips of his ears, one grand
and final blush.
"Evan," he said, "I'm in love."
"I thought you'd fall in love with her, A. P.," was the reply.
"Frankie is the finest girl in town."
"For you, maybe," said A. P., "but not for me. Nelsy," he continued in
confusion, "we have known each other a long while. What would you
think of me if I told you I loved your sister?"
A smile, happy yet troubled, was the answer Henty got.
In the afternoon Evan sat reading beneath the old maple trees that had
shaded his school-books from the sun in the beloved school-days gone
by. Lou came out and stood beside him a moment, and when he looked up
she bent over him, with the lovelight in her eyes.
"Brother," she said, "I knew you would bring him to me, but I never
dreamed he would be so grand!"
The brother laughed and teased her. When she had gone he sat musing on
the wonders of a girl's heart. There came to him, as there had often
come, the sure knowledge that he possessed such a treasure; but this
time came also the fear that that treasure might unwillingly be given
to another, for reasons that puzzle men.
"What foolish creatures we are," ran his thoughts. "I know that
Frankie is waiting for me to come. I have known it for years, and she
made me see it again yesterday on the train. I don't know why I can't
get up the courage to face the girl I love. I must. I must go now and
make good my promise. She is waiting for me in spite of all!"
More serious, perhaps, than he had ever been, he walked down the back
street along which a schoolboy and schoolgirl had so often strolled
together. When he came to the Arling residence he ascended the steps
with a palpitating heart. The front door was open. He rapped timidly
and waited, but there was no response. He peeked in, believing that
someone must be there.
Yes, Someone was there. She lay on the couch asleep, tear stains on
her cheeks. He moved toward her and knelt beside the couch. Her eyes
opened in wonder.
"I've come for you," he said, quietly.
She studied him as if he puzzled her. There was the mystified
expression of a baby's eyes in hers. For a while they gazed at each
other; then came the tears that must stain her face forever with marks
of happiness, and she murmured:
"I can't believe my dream has come true!"
No questions were asked. What mattered the past, now? Porter Perry
and Hamilton episodes were no longer of any consequence. The only
significant thing was love; love that had endured and was therefore
true.