were so awfully wealthy. No, of course it would be all right. But he sincerely hoped that Martha had not heard this last transaction. He stuffed the roll of bills hastily into his side pocket and tried to talk in a genially quiet tone.
"Well, I'm sure it will be all right. Of course, I'll--I'll return this--in case the deal--falls through!"
"Falls through?" shouted the bully. "It can't fall through now! I tell ya I've got ta have that property, an' you gave me your guarantee that it was as good as mine. I'll hold ya responsible! I'll knock anybody's block off that stops me now, an' I don't mean mebbe!"
Knox found he was trembling a little as he opened the door to usher his visitor away, but he drew a long breath and soothed him with a few smiling words of assurance. Then he turned with relief to come back into his bright little room and close the door behind him, and there was Martha standing in his way, her lips drawn in a thin line and her gray eyes full of apprehension.
"Now, William !" she assailed him. "What's that man going to hold you responsible for? He looks to me like a jailbird!"
And while the temeritous Knox was taking a grilling from the capable Martha, Keith Morrell was leaning back in the train with his eyes closed, thinking with relief that he didn't have to sell his house. Of course he wouldn't sell the old home. He must have been crazy to even think of it. It had just been that dread of going through it alone and having his feelings harrowed. But now he was glad he had gone, glad that wonderful girl had been willing to go with him and give him a picture of his boyhood that somehow had been slipping, fading from his mind. He must not ever lose that. It was too precious a heritage.
Later that evening, after both her pupils were gone, Daphne went and stood in the window of her own room, which looked out across the backyard and into the Morrell garden. It was from this window that as a child she had learned to watch for the movements of the little boy in the great house and to idealize his life.
The darkness was soft and sweet as it wafted into the open window. Breath of honeysuckle and lilies from the dewy garden, old-fashioned pinks and mignonette. Daphne drew a deep breath of it, and it seemed like the essence of the day, a beautiful happy day with no shadows and doubts in it. It seemed like something perfect that she could put away with her treasures of memory and keep, a jewel that had no flaw in it.
Likely he would not come again. It was not to be expected. Though he had asked if he might. But that of course was just his courtesy, his pleasant appreciation of the day. He was in business, and that would hold him. And he likely had a lot of worldly friends and interests. Oh, he wouldn't come again, of course, but it was nice to feel that he had been all right, not spoiled in any way, from the boy he had promised to be when she had known him in school. It was like closing the covers of a delightful book that one had enjoyed. Looking over the story and finding it good to hold in memory as a part of the beauty of life. She would think of it many times, perhaps, with pleasure, but the reading of it was definitely over of course.
Well, it was more than she had ever expected out of the childish visions, that they should come to a finish so happily.
She drew a little wistful sigh as she looked out at the familiar lines of the dear old house across the garden, a lovely dark etching under its tall old elms, against the night sky, and there came a warm feeling at her heart that now she knew it both inside and out. She could envision the desk where the mother had sat, and the eager boy coming home from school to his welcome. She could see the fireplace before which the little boy had knelt to pray at his mother's knee, and the room as it must have looked with the toys scattered over the floor. She had a background now for all the stories her own mother had told when she was a child.
It was characteristic of
"Well, I'm sure it will be all right. Of course, I'll--I'll return this--in case the deal--falls through!"
"Falls through?" shouted the bully. "It can't fall through now! I tell ya I've got ta have that property, an' you gave me your guarantee that it was as good as mine. I'll hold ya responsible! I'll knock anybody's block off that stops me now, an' I don't mean mebbe!"
Knox found he was trembling a little as he opened the door to usher his visitor away, but he drew a long breath and soothed him with a few smiling words of assurance. Then he turned with relief to come back into his bright little room and close the door behind him, and there was Martha standing in his way, her lips drawn in a thin line and her gray eyes full of apprehension.
"Now, William !" she assailed him. "What's that man going to hold you responsible for? He looks to me like a jailbird!"
And while the temeritous Knox was taking a grilling from the capable Martha, Keith Morrell was leaning back in the train with his eyes closed, thinking with relief that he didn't have to sell his house. Of course he wouldn't sell the old home. He must have been crazy to even think of it. It had just been that dread of going through it alone and having his feelings harrowed. But now he was glad he had gone, glad that wonderful girl had been willing to go with him and give him a picture of his boyhood that somehow had been slipping, fading from his mind. He must not ever lose that. It was too precious a heritage.
Later that evening, after both her pupils were gone, Daphne went and stood in the window of her own room, which looked out across the backyard and into the Morrell garden. It was from this window that as a child she had learned to watch for the movements of the little boy in the great house and to idealize his life.
The darkness was soft and sweet as it wafted into the open window. Breath of honeysuckle and lilies from the dewy garden, old-fashioned pinks and mignonette. Daphne drew a deep breath of it, and it seemed like the essence of the day, a beautiful happy day with no shadows and doubts in it. It seemed like something perfect that she could put away with her treasures of memory and keep, a jewel that had no flaw in it.
Likely he would not come again. It was not to be expected. Though he had asked if he might. But that of course was just his courtesy, his pleasant appreciation of the day. He was in business, and that would hold him. And he likely had a lot of worldly friends and interests. Oh, he wouldn't come again, of course, but it was nice to feel that he had been all right, not spoiled in any way, from the boy he had promised to be when she had known him in school. It was like closing the covers of a delightful book that one had enjoyed. Looking over the story and finding it good to hold in memory as a part of the beauty of life. She would think of it many times, perhaps, with pleasure, but the reading of it was definitely over of course.
Well, it was more than she had ever expected out of the childish visions, that they should come to a finish so happily.
She drew a little wistful sigh as she looked out at the familiar lines of the dear old house across the garden, a lovely dark etching under its tall old elms, against the night sky, and there came a warm feeling at her heart that now she knew it both inside and out. She could envision the desk where the mother had sat, and the eager boy coming home from school to his welcome. She could see the fireplace before which the little boy had knelt to pray at his mother's knee, and the room as it must have looked with the toys scattered over the floor. She had a background now for all the stories her own mother had told when she was a child.
It was characteristic of
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