Part 2 (2/2)

It was with a weary curiosity that she viewed the weather-beaten house toward which they finally advanced. In front of it stood an elm-tree whose lower branches swept the roof of the porch.

”That's got to come down, that tree,” said Rufus meditatively.

His companion turned on him. ”You would cut down that splendid tree?”

He regarded her suddenly vital expression admiringly.

”Why not, little one?” he asked. ”It's makin' the house damp and injurin' property. Property, you understand. Property. If I'd indulged in sentiment do you s'pose I'd be owner of all the land I've been showin' you?” He smiled, the semi-toothless smile, and met her horrified upturned eyes with an affectionate gaze. ”However, what you say goes, little girl. You look as if you were goin' to recite--'Woodman, spare that tree.' Consider the tree spared for the present.”

The automobile drew up at the house and in high good-humor the master jumped out and removed Geraldine's bag to the steps of the narrow piazza. A woman's face could be seen appearing and disappearing at the window, and Pete, the driver, looked with furtive curiosity at the guest as she stepped to the porch without touching the host's outstretched hand.

Rufus threw open the door. ”Where are you, Ma?” he shouted, and a thin, wrinkled old woman came into the corridor nervously wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n.

Geraldine looked at her eagerly.

”Well, you have to take us as you find us, little girl,” remarked Rufus, scowling at his parent. ”Ma hasn't even taken off her ap.r.o.n to welcome you.”

At this Mrs. Carder fumbled at her ap.r.o.n strings, but Geraldine advanced to her and put out her hand.

”I like ap.r.o.ns,” she said; and the old woman took the hand for a loose, brief shake.

”I'm very glad to see you, Miss Melody,” she said timidly. ”I'm glad it has been a pretty day.”

”Show her her room, Ma, and then perhaps she'd like some tea. City folks, you know, must have their tea.”

Geraldine followed her hostess with alacrity as she went up the narrow stairway; glad there was an upstairs; and a room of her own, and a woman to speak to.

She was ushered into a barely furnished chamber; a bowl and pitcher on the small wash-stand seemed to indicate that modern improvements had not penetrated to the Carder farm.

”I s'pose you'll find country livin' a great change for you,” said Mrs.

Carder, pulling up the window shade. Geraldine wondered how in this beautiful state could have been found such a treeless tract of land. She remembered the threatened fate of the elm. Perhaps there had been other destruction. ”My son never seemed to take any interest in puttin' in water here.”

The girl met the wrinkled face. The apprehension in the old eyes under Carder's scowl had given place to curiosity.

”I have come to help you,” said Geraldine, ”I must get used to fewer conveniences.”

”It's nice of you to say that,” said the old woman, ”Rufus don't want you to work much, though.”

”But of course I shall,” returned the girl quickly. ”I'm much better able to work than you are.”

”Oh, I've got a wet sink this year,” said Mrs. Carder. ”I told Rufus I just had to have it. I was gettin' too old to haul water.”

”I should think so!” exclaimed Geraldine indignantly. ”Mr. Carder is well off. He shouldn't allow you to work any more the rest of your life.”

Mrs. Carder smiled and shook her head, revealing her own need of dentistry. ”I'm stronger than I look. I s'pose if I was taken out of harness I might be like one o' these horses that drops down when the shafts don't hold him up any longer.”

Geraldine regarded her compa.s.sionately. ”I've heard--my stepmother told me it was very hard for you to get help out here. I suppose it is lonely for maids.”

The old woman regarded her strangely, and her withered lips compressed.

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