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glanced quickly at her mother and then turned to the road as Philip Ammon reached the gate.
“Careful, mother!” the girl instantly warned. “If you change your treatment of him a hair's breadth, he will suspect. Come with me to meet him.”
She dropped her work and sprang up.
“Well, of all the delightful surprises!” she cried.
She was a trifle thinner than during the previous summer. On her face there was a more mature, patient look, but the sun struck her bare head with the same ray of red gold. She wore one of the old blue gingham dresses, open at the throat and rolled to the elbows. Mrs. Comstock did not appear at all the same woman, but Philip saw only Elnora; heard only her greeting. He caught both hands where she offered but one.
“Elnora,” he cried, “if you were engaged to me, and we were at a ball, among hundreds, where I offended you very much, and didn't even know I had done anything, and if I asked you before all of them to allow me to explain, to forgive me, to wait, would your face grow distorted and unfamiliar with anger? Would you drop my ring on the floor and insult me repeatedly? Oh Elnora, would you?”
Elnora's big eyes seemed to leap, while her face grew very white. She drew away her hands.
“Hush, Phil! Hush!” she protested. “That fever has you again! You are dreadfully ill. You don't know what you are saying.”
“I am sleepless and exhausted; I'm heartsick; but I am well as I ever was. Answer me, Elnora, would you?”
“Answer nothing!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “Answer nothing! Hang your coat there on your nail, Phil, and come split some kindling. Elnora, clean away that stuff, and set the table. Can't you see the boy is starved and tired? He's come home to rest and eat a decent meal. Come on, Phil!”
Mrs. Comstock marched away, and Philip hung his coat in its old place and followed. Out of sight and hearing she turned on him.
“Do you call yourself a man or a hound?” she flared.
“I beg your pardon——” stammered Philip Ammon.
“I should think you would!” she ejaculated. “I'll admit you did the square thing and was a man last summer, though I'd liked it better if you'd faced up and told me you were promised; but to come back here babying, and take hold of Elnora like that, and talk that way because you have had a fuss with your girl, I don't tolerate. Split that kindling and I'll get your supper, and then you better go. I won't have you working on Elnora's big heart, because you have quarrelled with some one else. You'll have it patched up in a week and be gone again, so you can go right away.”
“Mrs. Comstock, I came to ask Elnora to marry me.”
“The more fool you, then!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “This time yesterday you were engaged to another woman, no doubt. Now, for some little flare-up you come racing here to use Elnora as a tool to spite the other girl. A week of sane living, and you will be sorry and ready to go back to Chicago, or, if you really are man enough to be sure of yourself, she will come to claim you. She has her rights. An engagement of years is a serious matter, and not broken for a whim. If you don't go, she'll come. Then, when you patch up your affairs and go sailing away together, where does my girl come in?”
“I am a lawyer, Mrs. Comstock,” said Philip. “It appeals to me as beneath your ordinary sense of justice to decide a case without hearing the evidence. It is due me that you hear me first.”
“Hear your side!” flashed Mrs. Comstock. “I'd a heap sight rather hear the girl!”
“I wish to my soul that you had heard and seen her last night, Mrs. Comstock,” said Ammon. “Then, my way would be clear. I never even thought of coming here to-day. I'll admit I would have come in time, but not for many months. My father sent me.”
“Your father sent you! Why?”
“Father, mother, and Polly were present last night. They, and all my friends, saw me insulted and disgraced in the worst exhibition of uncontrolled temper any of us ever witnessed. All of them knew it was the end. Father liked what I had told him of Elnora, and he advised me to come here, so I came. If she does not want me, I can leave instantly, but, oh I hoped she would understand!”
“You people are not splitting wood,” called Elnora.
“Oh yes we are!” answered Mrs. Comstock. “You set out the things for biscuit, and lay the table.” She turned again to Philip. “I know considerable about your father,” she said. “I have met your Uncle's family frequently this winter. I've heard your Aunt Anna say that she didn't at all like Miss Carr, and that she and all your family secretly hoped that something would happen to prevent your marrying her. That chimes right in with your saying that your father sent you here. I guess you better speak your piece.”
Philip gave his version of the previous night.
“Do you believe me?” he finished.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Comstock.
“May I stay?”
“Oh, it looks all right for you, but what about her?”
“Nothing, so far as I am concerned. Her plans were all made to start to Europe to-day. I suspect she is on the way by this time. Elnora is very sensible, Mrs. Comstock. Hadn't you better let her decide this?”
“The final decision rests with her, of course,” admitted Mrs. Comstock. “But look you one thing! She's all I have. As Solomon says, 'she is the one child, the only child of her mother.' I've suffered enough in this world that I fight against any suffering which threatens her. So far as I know you've always been a man, and you may stay. But if you bring tears and heartache to her, don't have the assurance to think I'll bear it tamely. I'll get right up and fight like a catamount, if things go wrong for Elnora!”
“I have no doubt but you will,” replied Philip, “and I don't blame you in the least if you do. I have the utmost devotion to offer Elnora, a good home, fair social position, and my family will love her dearly. Think it over. I know it is sudden, but my father advised it.”
“Yes, I reckon he did!” said Mrs. Comstock dryly. “I guess instead of me being the catamount, you had the genuine article up in Chicago, masquerading in peacock feathers, and posing as a fine lady, until her time came to scratch. Human nature seems to be the same the world over. But I'd give a pretty to know that secret thing you say you don't, that set her raving over your just catching a moth for Elnora. You might get that crock of strawberries in the spring house.”
They prepared and ate supper. Afterward they sat in the arbour and talked, or Elnora played until time for Philip to go.
“Will you walk to the gate with me?” he asked Elnora as he arose.
“Not to-night,” she answered lightly. “Come early in the morning if you like, and we will go over to Sleepy Snake Creek and hunt moths and gather dandelions for dinner.”
Philip leaned toward her. “May I tell you to-morrow why I came?” he asked.
“I think not,” replied Elnora. “The fact is, I don't care why you came. It is enough for me that we are your very good friends, and that in trouble, you have found us a refuge. I fancy we had better live a week or two before you say anything. There is a possibility that what you have to say may change in that length of time.
“It will not change one iota!” cried Philip.
“Then it will have the grace of that much age to give it some small touch of flavour,” said the girl. “Come early in the morning.”
She lifted the violin and began to play.
“Well bless my soul!” ejaculated the astounded Mrs. Comstock. “To think I was worrying for fear you couldn't take care of yourself!”
Elnora laughed while she played.
“Shall I tell you what he said?”
“Nope!