Part 4 (1/2)

”Never mind about that. What's done can't be mended. But don't let Hertha grieve--not if you can help it.”

He kissed his older sister good-night and went into his little room, there to sit upon his trunk and with his face in his hands bury himself in thought.

”Ef I was any use,” he said, ”Ellen couldn't drag me away; but I ain't the brother she needs.”

He stepped up the gangway into the little boat the next morning like a man. They were all there to see him off: his mother wiping her eyes and telling him to be her good boy; Ellen, resolute, not giving way to her sorrow; and Hertha, his beautiful sister, waving her handkerchief, her lips trying to smile. He watched them until the boat was far out in the stream; and then, with a very sober face, took his seat where he could look ahead toward the nearing sea.

CHAPTER III

It was still early morning when the boat left the dock and the three women walked back toward their home after their good-by to Tom. No one spoke for a time and then Aunt Maggie said impressively, ”Dere ain't no use in cryin' 'bout what yer can't help. Tom's gone, but maybe it'll make a man o' him; maybe it were best fer him ter leabe de women folk.

Heah 'tis, Monday morning. Ellen, hab yer settle in yer mind which o' de boys gits de was.h.i.+n' ter my folks?”

”I suppose,” said Hertha, ”it will be either Thaddeus Jackson or Obadiah Thomas.”

”It will be Thaddeus,” Ellen answered. ”He will do it all right, Mammy, because his father lets him save his money.”

”I hope he isn't saving to go to school,” said Hertha; and then, quite unexpectedly to herself, laughed. She had been living so many days weighted with sorrow that the sailing of the boat had come as a relief.

There was no good, as her mother said, to rebel against the inevitable; and while she would miss her brother, who had grown to be a companion in thought and interests, and who yet could never outgrow his place as her baby, it could not be right to look upon his absence as a calamity like sickness or death. So she gave her little laugh and her mother looked at her with pleasure and relief.

”Dere goes Ellen,” Aunt Maggie said, as her elder daughter went past them the sooner to get to her work. ”You an' I believes as de door o'

heben's open ter dem as walks slow. I's glad you kin laugh, honey. We ain't lose Tom fer good. An' soon de winter'll come, an' moe folks a-staying at de great house, an' den de summer an' de dear boy home ag'in.”

Talking on in slow, comfortable phrases, stopping often to get her breath, Hertha's mammy walked with her among the pines to their tidy front yard where golden glow and asters told of the autumn.

”It seems later than it is, doesn't it?” said Hertha, ”we've been up so long. I think I'll go to Miss Patty right now.”

There were two paths to the great house. The well-traveled one led past a number of cabins, and ended near the kitchen door. It was the shorter but Hertha chose a more attractive way among the pines to where a cypress marked the beginning of the orange grove. She had taken this route long before Lee Merryvale's return; and while he had closed it generally to dwellers among the pines, Miss Patty a.s.sured her maid she could use it as much as she wished.

She had only walked a little way when she saw Merryvale himself examining his cherished possessions.

”Come over here, won't you?” he called out. ”There's no one up at the house yet.”

Hertha went shyly toward him. He was a handsome man with reddish gold hair, clear eyes, and a glowing skin. His hat was off, he wore a soft s.h.i.+rt with collar thrown open, and altogether looked an attractive combination of the farmer and the gentleman.

As she came up he said sympathetically, ”You must be feeling pretty badly to-day at saying good-by to Tom.”

”Yes,” said Hertha, and added almost confidentially, ”you see, Tom's the baby. I took care of him when he wasn't any longer than that,”

indicating the length with her hands.

”You couldn't have been much longer yourself.”

She shook her head smiling and then turned to go away.

”Can't we have a little talk?” he asked. ”Don't run into the house such a wonderful morning as this. I say, what a day it is! A day for the G.o.ds--Zeus, Apollo, Diana--we ought to wors.h.i.+p the sun!”

It was a wonderful morning. The newly risen sun sent its golden light through the grove, brightening the deep green leaves, showing the pale yellow in the ripening fruit; and then danced on to the river where it lay, a limitless ma.s.s of golden mist, upon the s.h.i.+ning stream.

As Hertha stopped and looked out over the river, Merryvale stepped to her side. ”You're as beautiful as a G.o.ddess,” he said.