HOME AGAIN
Mr. Conant, who was Colonel Hathaway's lawyer and confidential agent,
was at the train to meet his important client on his return to
Dorfield. The first to alight from the coach was the Colonel, who
greeted his lawyer with a cordial handclasp. Mary Louise kissed Peter
Conant upon his impassive cheek and presented him to a pretty young
girl who clung to her arm smiling, yet half bewildered by her arrival
in a strange town. There seemed no one else with the party and Mr.
Conant glanced over the crowd of passengers and said:
"Mr. Jones did not accompany you, then?"
"Why, yes; I suppose he's here," answered the Colonel carelessly. "I
believe he traveled another car."
"I don't see him anywhere," added Mary Louise. "I wonder if anyone
reminded him that this is the place to get off?"
"Never mind," said Alora; "if father can't keep track of himself, let
him go on to another station. I can't lose him for long, that's
certain."
"There he is, up ahead," announced Mara Louise. "He's quarreling with
his porter about something."
"To save the tip," suggested Alora, scornfully.
Mary Louise rushed to greet an old colorful man with snow-white hair,
who was picking up their hand baggage.
"Oh, Uncle Eben, I'm so glad to see again!" she exclaimed. "And how's
Aunt Sallie? And is my pony well? And are the goldfish still alive?
And----"
"Bress yo' soul, Ma'y Weeze!" said the delighted old servant,
"ev'body's well an' joyful to see you-all back ag'in."
The Colonel shook Uncle Eben's hands--both of them--in a kindly but
dignified manner. "I suppose the automobile is still running, Uncle?"
"Not jes' dis yere minnit, Kun'l," with a glad chuckle, "but dat car's
gwine ter run jes' as soon as we-all gits aboahd. What yo' think I's
be'n doin' all winter, Kun'l, in dat lonesomeness house, 'cept keepin'
dat car greased up?"
"Did you grease it in the house, then, Uncle?" asked Mary Louise
gravely, but with twinkling eyes.
Old Eben chuckled again, for this was a happy hour for him, but while
he chuckled he led them to where the automobile stood waiting. Behind
the others slowly followed Jason Jones, carrying his own luggage and
eyeing every detail of his surroundings in the manner of a countryman
paying his first visit to town. He was inwardly sizing up Dorfield as a
place of residence. When Jones got into the car the Colonel briefly
introduced him to the lawyer.
"This is Mr. Jones, Mr. Conant."
He looked at the lawyer and gave a slight nod, and Mr. Conant's bow was
very stiff and formal. Already he had, with fair accuracy, grasped the
relationship of the man to the others. Alora Jones seemed a fine girl--
the right sort--and Mary Louise was evidently fond of her. The Colonel
barely tolerated the man Jones, whom he did not like, for the
daughter's sake. The girl herself lacked in respect for her father, and
this unfilial attitude seemed condoned by both Mary Louise and the
Colonel, which was evidence that there was something wrong about Jason
Jones. With such a cue for guidance, Mr. Conant decided he had no use
for Jason Jones, either.
Uncle Eben first drove the car to the Widow Harrington's cottage, where
Mrs. Conant awaited the new tenants to introduce them to their servant
and to assure them that everything was prepared for their convenience.
Then they drove to Colonel Hathaway's home, where Irene was at the gate
in her wheeled chair, a bunch of her choicest roses in her hand, ready
to welcome her friend Mary Louise and to be kissed and hugged with
girlish enthusiasm.
It was a happy homecoming, indeed, for Mary Louise. And Colonel
Hathaway breathed a deep sigh of relief as he entered his own portals.
"From now on," he said to his granddaughter that evening, "I am under
no obligation to assist that impossible person, Jones, or to even
associate with him. For your sake, my darling, I have suffered the
infliction of his presence with fortitude, even going to the extent of
locating him in our beloved town of Dorfield, that you and Alora might
enjoy one another's society. But from this time forward Jason Jones is
to be a distant acquaintance rather than a companion. Congratulate me,
Mary Louise!"
"I do, Gran'pa Jim," she replied soberly, "and I thank you, too. It has
been a trial for both of us, but we've been really helpful to poor
Alora. I want to try to bring a little happiness into her life and
encourage her to become as sweet and lovable a girl as she has the
nature to be, and this could never have been accomplished had we
allowed her to drift in the sole companionship of her disagreeable
father."