She ran down as she would have done alone,
and taking the cocoon turned it end for end to learn if the imago it
contained were alive. Then Ammon took back the cocoon to smooth the
edges. Mrs. Comstock gave them one long look as they stood there, and
returned to her dandelions. While she worked she paused occasionally,
listening intently. Presently they came down the creek, the man carrying
the cocoon as if it were a jewel, while Elnora made her way along the
bank, taking a lesson in casting. Her face was flushed with excitement,
her eyes shining, the bushes taking liberties with her hair. For a
picture of perfect loveliness she scarcely could have been surpassed,
and the eyes of Philip Ammon seemed to be in working order.
"Moth-er!" called Elnora.
There was an undulant, caressing sweetness in the girl's voice, as she
sung out the call in perfect confidence that it would bring a loving
answer, that struck deep in Mrs. Comstock's heart. She never had heard
that word so pronounced before and a lump arose in her throat.
"Here!" she answered, still cleaning dandelions.
"Mother, this is Mr. Philip Ammon, of Chicago," said Elnora. "He has
been ill and he is staying with Dr. Ammon in Onabasha. He came down the
creek fishing and cut this cocoon from under the bridge for me. He feels
that it would be better to hunt moths than to fish, until he is well.
What do you think about it?"
Philip Ammon extended his hand.
Pages:
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257