ON THE VERANDA.
It was a beautiful sunny morning some three weeks later.
Inza and Elsie sat on the broad veranda of Merry Home, while Lizette,
the nurse, trundled the baby up and down beneath the shady trees on the
broad lawn.
Over at the east of Farnham Hall a group of laborers, among whom were
fully twenty of the Farnham boys, were completing the foundations for
Merriwell's new manual-training school building.
A glimpse of the distant athletic ground showed a number of boys hard at
work on the track and the baseball field.
There was a look of serene happiness on Inza's face, while Elsie was
positively rosy. After chatting a while, they sat some moments in
silence, busy with their own thoughts. Finally their eyes met, and Inza
laughed.
"No one would ever dream now that you were at one time determined to be
an invalid, Elsie," she said.
"Determined to be?" exclaimed Elsie. "Why do you use that word, Inza?"
"Why, you remember that I laughed at you--you remember I told you a
hundred times that you would be well and strong again."
"Yes, you were most encouraging, Inza, and I'll never forget how
faithfully you stuck by me. Still, there were reasons why I feared for
my future health."
"Silly reasons."
"Oh, no, Inza; not silly. You can't call them that. You know my mother
was never strong, and she finally became a chronic invalid."
"But your father----"
"Oh, he was a rugged man."
"You know it's said that girls generally take after their fathers and
boys after their mothers."
"But in my case it was different. A thousand times my father told me how
much I looked like my mother. I had a picture of her, and I could see I
was becoming more and more like her every day."
"You're a person who worries, Elsie. When things are not going just
right you give yourself over to fears for the future. I have absolute
courage and faith."
"Oh, I know my failing," admitted the golden-haired bride. "You and
Frank were made for each other. You're both courageous and trustful.
Frank has done marvels for Bart in the way of giving him unwavering
confidence and courage. You know Bart used to be quick-tempered,
resentful, and inclined to brood. He has learned, through Frank's
example, to overcome such failings, and he's now almost as confident
and optimistic as Frank himself. I think Bart will help me in that
respect."
"We're both extremely fortunate," said Inza gravely. "If other girls
could have such good fortune, this world would be a happy place. You are
going to stay with us this summer?"
"Oh, I don't know. Bart thinks it his duty to return to the mines. If he
goes, I shall go with him."
"But Frank says Bart will not be needed there for three months, at
least. You're not going to settle down to live in Arizona or Mexico,
Elsie?"
"Oh, I don't expect we'll live there all our lives," was the smiling
answer. "But while duty keeps my husband out there, I shall remain with
him."
"That's fine--that's splendid! But Frank says there is no reason why
Bart should spend more than five or six months of the year at the mines.
Frank wants you to have a home in the East--here in Bloomfield."
"Oh, I hope we may!" cried Elsie. "I'm sure Bart would like that."
"Then you'd better make your plans for it. There's a fine building lot
down the road, and Frank owns it. You know you were married so suddenly
we had no opportunity to make you a wedding present. If you can induce
Bart to build, Frank and I have decided to give you that lot as a
wedding present."
Elsie sprang up, her eyes dancing, flung her arms round Inza's neck, and
kissed her repeatedly.
"It's too much--too much!" she cried.
For a few moments their words and laughter were mingled in such
confusion that the record would produce a senseless jumble. Finally
Elsie sat down, appearing utterly overcome.
"Oh, what a glorious world!" she murmured. "What a grand, inexpressible
thing real true friendship is! Still, such a gift is----"
"Now don't feel that this is a case of charity," laughed Inza. "I want
you here--we want you here. Bart doesn't need charity. His interest in
the San Pablo makes him independent. He could buy a building lot
anywhere he chose in Bloomfield; but it happens Frank owns the best lot
near us, and our selfish desire to have you close by is one motive for
the present."
"Selfish, Inza? There never was a selfish bone in you or in your
husband. I understand and appreciate the spirit of the gift, and I'm
sure Bart will. Oh, won't it be the finest thing to plan our new house,
to watch while it is being built, to furnish it, and finally to move
into it and start with a real home of our own!"
Again they were silent.
Amid the trees birds were calling, mate to mate. A proud redbreast
danced across the lawn, pausing to capture a fated insect, then flew up
into one of the trees to feed its mate upon a nest.
Elsie was watching the maid, now bending over the carriage and crooning
softly to the baby.
"Did you ever notice how queerly Lizette does her hair, Inza?"
"Yes, I've noticed," was the answer. "There are several queer things
about her. Her skin is strangely dark, almost as if stained, and I know
she makes up her eyebrows. Sometimes I've noted that her French, when
she speaks in her own language, is anything but correct, yet she seems a
girl of some education. Her intonation is occasionally a trifle
different from that of most French people I've met."
"But she's very faithful."
"Yes, she is very faithful and very kind with the baby. But I believe
Lizette has a secret."
"A secret?"
"Yes."
"Why do you think that?"
"Occasionally she looks at me in the most peculiar manner. I've caught
her looking that way several times. Once I discovered her glaring at
Frank's back in a way that was almost savage."
"How singular! What do you suppose it means?"
"Oh, I don't know, unless it may be that she envies Frank and me. It may
be that some time she was disappointed by an unfaithful lover."
"Poor girl!" breathed Elsie. "If such is the case, I think I realize how
she feels. But look, Inza, here come the boys now. They're coming over
from the Hall."
The "boys" were Frank and Bart, who were approaching side by side, two
splendid specimens of American manhood.