Part 25 (1/2)

The old workman was studying her now with kind but frankly understanding eyes. ”John and Mary have gone to see some of the folks that she is looking after in the Flats,” he said, slowly. ”They'll be back any minute now, I should think.”

She did not know what to reply to this. There were so many things she wanted to know--so many things that she felt she must know. But she felt herself forced to answer with the mere commonplace, ”You are all well, I suppose, Uncle Pete?”

”Fine, thank you,” he answered. ”Mary is always busy with her housework and her flowers and the poor sick folks she's always a-looking after--just like her mother, if you remember. Charlie, he's working late to-day--some breakdown or something that's keeping him overtime.

That brother of yours is a fine manager, Miss Helen, and,” he added, with a faint note of something in his voice that brought a touch of color to her cheeks, ”a finer man.”

Again she felt the crowding rush of those questions she wanted to ask, but she only said, with an air of calm indifference, ”John has changed so since his return from France--in many ways he seems like a different man.”

”As for that,” he replied, ”the war has changed most people in one way or another. It was bound to. Everybody talks about getting back to normal again, but as I see it there'll be no getting back ever to what used to be normal before the war started.”

She looked at him with sudden, intense interest. ”How has it so changed every one, Uncle Pete? Why can't people be just as they were before it happened? The change in business conditions and all that, I can understand, but why should it make any difference to--well, to me, for example?”

The old workman answered, slowly, ”The people are thinking deeper and feeling deeper. They're more human, as you might say. And I've noticed generally that the way the people think and feel is at the bottom of everything. It's just like the Interpreter says, 'You can't change the minds and hearts of folks without changing what they do.' Everybody ain't changed, of course, but so many of them have that the rest will be bound to take some notice or feel mighty lonesome from now on.”

Helen was about to reply when the old workman interrupted her with, ”There come John and Mary now.”

The two coming along the street walk to the gate did not at first notice those who were watching them with such interest. John was carrying a market basket and talking earnestly to his companion, whose face was upturned to his with eager interest. At the gate they paused a moment while the man, with his hand on the latch, finished whatever it was that he was saying. And Helen, with a little throb of something very much like envy in her heart, saw the light of happiness in the eyes of the young woman who through all the years of their girlhood had been her inseparable playmate and loyal friend.

When John finally opened the gate for her to pa.s.s, Mary was laughing, and the clear ringing gladness in her voice brought a faint smile of sympathy even to the face of the now coolly conventional daughter of Adam Ward.

Mary's laughter was suddenly checked; the happiness fled from her face.

With a little gesture of almost appealing fear she put her hand on her companion's arm.

In the same instant John saw and stood motionless, his face blank with amazement. Then, ”Helen! What in the world are you doing here?”

John Ward never realized all that those simple words carried to the three who heard him. Peter Martin's face was grave and thoughtful. Mary blushed in painful embarra.s.sment. His sister, calm and self-possessed, came toward them, smiling graciously.

”I saw your roadster and thought I might ride home with you. Uncle Pete and I have been having a lovely little visit. It is perfectly charming to see you again like this, Mary. Your flowers are beautiful as ever, aren't they?”

”But, Helen, how do you happen to be wandering about in this neighborhood alone and without your car?” demanded the still bewildered John.

”Don't be silly,” she laughed. ”I was out for a walk--that is all. I do walk sometimes, you know.” She turned to Mary. ”Really, to hear this brother of mine, one would think me a helpless invalid and this part of Millsburgh a very dangerous community.”

Mary forced a smile, but the light in her eyes was not the light of happiness and her cheeks were still a burning red.

”Don't you think we should go now, John?” suggested Helen.

The helpless John looked from Mary to her father appealingly.

”Better sit down awhile,” Pete offered, awkwardly.

John looked at his watch. ”I suppose we really ought to go.” To Mary he added, ”Will you please tell Charlie that I will see him to-morrow?”

She bowed gravely.

Then the formal parting words were spoken, and Helen and John were seated in the car. Mary had moved aside from the gate and stood now very still among her flowers.

Before John had s.h.i.+fted the gears of his machine to high, he heard a sound that caused him to look quickly at his sister. Little Maggie's princess lady was sobbing like a child.