The result of Rosamund's increased determination was that, by the end
of the week, a curiously assorted household was taxing the capacity of
the cottage almost to the utmost. Grace Tobet, however, was not there.
Rosamund had many long talks with her about other things; the poor soul
had been miserably uneasy since the episode of the stone-throwing, and
besought Rosamund to release her from her bond of silence. But that
their friendship might bring trouble upon herself she denied, and when
Rosamund tried to persuade her to take shelter in the brown house she
would do no more than shake her head or raise the girl's hand to her
own cheek in caress, or look off to the hills with unseeing eyes
tear-brimmed, as on the first day she had spoken of her baby; and
Rosamund could not urge her farther after that.
"It's often that a way," Mother Cary said, when Rosamund told her about
it. "It binds 'em to a place faster than ropes could. You can break
through most anything you can see, honey-bud; it's the things you can't
see that you can't get away from. And they holds you all the tighter
when they're the things you useter have and haven't any
more--'specially little child'en."
Eleanor, too, had a word to say on Grace's side. "Can't you see,
sweet, that if she leaves her Joe, she will be admitting his
unworthiness?"
"But since he plainly is unworthy----?"
"What he is has very little to do with it. It is what she must believe
him to be, as long as she can."
"How can she believe him to be anything that is good? He killed their
baby--and you know very well that she has had to go through the woods
all alone at night to warn him when the Government men are out."
Eleanor shook her head. "We don't know that, Rose. And as long as
Grace stays with him and says nothing, we can't know it. She is
keeping that fact from being knowledge--if it is fact. Don't you see
that she just has to hold on to that vague 'if'?"
"But she cannot possibly love the man, Eleanor!"
Eleanor looked at her curiously, and for some hidden reason which she
could not define Rosamund's heart, under that long look, began to beat
faster.
"Ah, Rosamund, which of us can understand love?" Eleanor asked. After
a pause she added, "I have wondered sometimes whether they really and
truly love--the people who question 'why'!"
Rosamund was beginning to be afraid of the turn the conversation was
taking. "Oh, Eleanor!" she exclaimed, somewhat impatiently, "your
subtleties are beyond me!"
While they talked, Tim had been tramping back and forth on the front
veranda of the house, himself the horse of a little iron wagon that was
one of his new toys. He was seldom willing that Eleanor should waste
time in uninteresting conversation with grown-ups. He had taken her
for his own; and Rosamund, Yetta, Mother Cary--everyone who had
ministered to him before--were all but forgotten. Eleanor must now do
everything for him; nothing less than complete possession could satisfy
his hungry little heart. And Eleanor's hunger for Tim went beyond his
for her; as she talked, her eyes followed him, her look brooding upon
him as if he were new-born and her own.
At Rosamund's last exclamation she laughed, and bending towards Timmy
on one of his turnings, gathered him into her arms, in spite of his
indignantly protesting squirms and thrusts.
"My subtleties, indeed!" she said, while burrowing for kisses under the
curls on his neck. "I'm the most elemental creature alive! I'm
nothing more than a mother hen!"
"Matt chopped ve chicken's head off wif a ax," said Tim, "an' it hopped
an' hopped an' hopped. An' Sue took all its fevvers off. But chickens
don't catch cold. An' anyway its head was gone."
"Mercy!" said Rosamund. "Matt ought not to have let the child see
that! And I do wish he wouldn't be so--so explicit!"
They laughed, but Eleanor could not ignore the opportunity for a lesson
in good manners. She had tried in vain to impress it upon Tim before;
now she repeated, "You must call her _Aunt_ Sue, Timmy! I call her
that, and Miss Rose does. You want to be polite, too, don't you?"
But Tim knew what he wanted; he had thought it out for himself. "She
ain't," he said, frowning. "An' I don't want her. I got a muvver."
"Oh! The darling!" cried Eleanor, and let him swagger back to his
march with the wagon.
So the boy was provided for, and Eleanor daily gained in health.
Ogilvie was delighted.
"Just let it go on for a few months," said he, "and she'll forget she
has any eyes. Pity she'll have to go back to work, though," he added.
He had been away for a few days, on some consultation, and so could
notice the change in her all the more for his absence. They were
driving through the golden woods; the first heavy frost had fallen the
night before.
Her breath fluttered a little as she answered. "She will not have to
work any more--not as she used to--if she decides really to adopt
Timmy," she said, palpitating in wonder as to how he would take the
disclosure of her gift and what it implied.
He turned quickly to look at her, all interest. "So that's what Flood
meant!" he said.
She returned his look rather blankly. "Mr. Flood? What on earth do
you mean?"
"I stayed with him in New York, you know. He told me the kiddie's
future was provided for, but he was too modest to tell me how. That's
one of the things I like about him--his modesty. He's a fine fellow,
Flood is."
It was something more than disconcerting to have her generosity
attributed to someone else; that he should give the credit of it to
Flood, of all people, was plainly provoking.
"Did he give you to understand that he had done the providing?" she
asked.
"Why, no! I've just told you he was too modest!" Then, perhaps at
something in her look of disdain, he understood. "Oh, I see! I'm sure
I beg your pardon! It is you who are doing it?"
She did not reply nor look at him, but flushed deeply.
But he did not seem to think it mattered either way. "Well, it'll be
the best thing in the world for them both," he said.
So there was to be no word of praise for herself! She forgot to wonder
at his unquestioning acceptance of the fact that she should have enough
to spare for such a gift; it did not occur to her until afterward that
he must have known of her fortune all along.
In her disappointment and dismay she spoke with a little tremor of
anger which did not escape him.
"I suppose you think it is no more than I ought to do!" she said.
He ran his fingers through his hair. "Well! Is it?" he questioned.
She did not reply to that, and he asked, "You will not miss what you
give, will you?" By his tone he might have been asking, "Well, what of
it? What's money good for, anyway?"
At that she turned to him, head lifted, eyes aflame. "I suppose you
are one of those people who think that we ought to divide everything
equally--number the people and give them equal shares--so many pennies
apiece!"
He laughed good-humoredly. "O Lord, no! If the wealth of the nations
were equally divided on a Monday, it would be back in the pockets it
was taken from by the first Saturday night! The smart ones would get
it all back again."
"I am not one of the--'smart'--ones. But I suppose it wouldn't matter
if I went hungry----"
Whatever she had hoped for from that, his reply was certainly
unexpected. He looked at her for a moment, then put his head back and
roared--laughed until the woods rang, until White Rosy turned her head
to look at him, until Rosamund, her anger melting, laughed with him.
"Oh, I say!" he cried at last. "I'm awfully sorry! Miss
Randall--you'll forgive me for being so utterly stupid, won't you?"
"I did want you to praise me," she admitted, dimpling.
Instantly he became serious. "To praise you would be like praising the
sunlight, or the blessed rain, or any other of the crowning works of
God Almighty," he said.
"We were talking of Timmy," she reminded him, not quite truthfully, but
grasping at anything that might turn him from that strain, "and Mr.
Flood!"