Part 33 (1/2)
”Marjorie,”--the kitchen door was opened suddenly,--”I'm going to take your mother home with me. Is the key in the right place.”
”Everything is all right, Mrs. Rheid,” replied Morris. ”You bolt that door and we will go out this way.”
The door was closed as suddenly and the boy and girl stood silent, looking at each other.
”Your Morris Kemlo is a fine young man,” observed Mrs. Rheid as she pushed the bolt into its place.
”He is a heartease to his mother,” replied Mrs. West, who was sometimes poetical.
”Does Marjorie like him pretty well?”
”Why, yes, we all do. He is like our own flesh and blood. But why did you ask?”
”Oh, nothing. I just thought of it.”
”I thought you meant something, but you couldn't when you know how Hollis has been writing to her these four years.”
”Oh!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Hollis' mother.
She did not make plans for her children as the other mother did.
The two old ladies crossed the field toward the substantial white farmhouse that overlooked the little cottage, and the children, whose birthday it was, walked hand in hand through the yard to the footpath along the road.
”Must you keep on writing to Hollis?” he asked.
”I suppose so. Why not? It is my turn to write now.”
”That's all nonsense.”
”What is? Writing in one's turn?”
”I don't see why you need write at all.”
”Don't you remember I promised before you came?”
”But I've come now,” he replied in a tone intended to be very convincing.
”His mother would miss it, if I didn't write; she thinks she can't write letters. And I like his letters,” she added frankly.
”I suppose you do. I suppose you like them better than mine,” with an a.s.sertion hardly a question in his voice.
”They are so different. His life is so different from yours. But he is shy, as shy as a girl, and does not tell me all the things you do. Your letters are more interesting, but _he_ is more interesting--as a study.
You are a lesson that I have learned, but I have scarcely begun to learn him.”
”That is very cold blooded when you are talking about human beings.”
”My brain was talking then.”
”Suppose you let your heart speak.”
”My heart hasn't anything to say; it is not developed yet.”