Part 16 (1/2)

Her mind was filled with scarcely defined surmises concerning Aunt Isabel, her unexpected headache, and the too handsome harper. But Uncle Charlie, unsuspecting, talked on in that cheerful strain. He was teasing Missy because she liked the ham and eggs and m.u.f.fins, and took a second helping of everything.

”Good thing I can get groceries at wholesale!” he bantered. ”Else I'd never dare ask you to visit me!”

Missy returned his smile, grateful that the matter of her appet.i.te might serve to keep him jolly a little while longer. Perhaps he didn't even suspect, yet. DID he suspect? She couldn't forbear a tentative question:

”What seems to be the matter with Aunt Isabel, Uncle Charlie?”

”Why, didn't I tell you she has a headache?'

”Oh! a headache.” She was silent a second; then, as if there was something strange about this malady, she went on: ”Did she SAY she had a headache?”

”Of course, my dear. It's a pretty bad one. I guess it must be the weather.” It was hot. Uncle Charlie had taken off his coat and was in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves--she was pleased to note it was a silken s.h.i.+rt; little beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead, and on his head where it was just beginning to get bald. Somehow, the fact that he looked so hot had the effect of making her feel even more tender toward him. So, though she thirsted for information, not for the world would she have aroused his suspicions by questions. And she made her voice very casual, when she finally enquired:

”By the way, that Mr. Saunders who brought us home is awfully handsome.

Sort of gallant looking, don't you think?”

Uncle Charlie laughed; then shook his finger at her in mock admonition.

”Oh, Missy! You've fallen, too?”

Missy gulped; Uncle Charlie had made an unwitting revelation! But she tried not to give herself away; still casual, she asked:

”Oh! do other people fall?”

”All the ladies fall for Saunders,” said Uncle Charlie.

Missy hesitated, then hazarded:

”Aunt Isabel, too?”

”Oh, yes.” Uncle Charlie looked pathetically unconcerned. ”Aunt Isabel likes to have him around. He often comes in handy at dances.”

It would be just like Mr. Saunders to be a good dancer!

”He harps well, too,” she said meditatively.

”What's that?” enquired Uncle Charlie.

”Oh, I mean that thing he plays.”

”The ukelele. Yes, Saunders is a wizard with it. But in spite of that he's a good fellow.” (What did ”in spite of that” mean--didn't Uncle Charlie approve of harpers?)

He continued: ”He sometimes goes on fis.h.i.+ng-trips with me.”

Fis.h.i.+ng-trips! From father Missy had learned that this was the highest proof of camaraderie. So Uncle Charlie didn't suspect. He was harbouring the serpent in his very bosom. Missy crumpled the fragrant rose-geranium reflectively between her fingers.

Then Uncle Charlie suggested that she play something for him on the piano. And Missy, feeling every minute tenderer toward him because she must keep to herself the dreadful truths which would hurt him if he knew, hurried to his side, took away his cane, and put her own arm in its place for him to lean on. And Uncle Charlie seemed to divine there was something special in her deed, for he reached down and patted the arm which supported him, and said:

”You're a dear child, Missy.”