"
At five o'clock the next afternoon Mrs. Kelsey put on the treasured
black silk dress, sacred for a dozen years to church, weddings, and
funerals. Nathan, warm and uncomfortable in his Sunday suit and stiff
collar, had long since driven to the station for Alma. The house,
brushed and scrubbed into a state of speckless order, was thrown wide
open to welcome the returning daughter. At a quarter before six she
came.
"Mother, you darling!" cried a voice, and Mrs. Kelsey found herself in
the clasp of strong young arms, and gazing into a flushed, eager face.
"Don't you look good! And doesn't everything look good!" finished the
girl.
"Does it--I mean,
do it?" quavered the little woman excitedly.
"Oh, Alma, I
am glad ter see ye!"
Behind Alma's back Nathan flicked a bit of dust from his coat. The next
instant he raised a furtive hand and gave his collar and neckband a
savage pull.
At the supper-table that night ten minutes of eager questioning on the
part of Alma had gone by before Mrs. Kelsey realized that thus far their
conversation had been of nothing more important than Nathan's
rheumatism, her own health, and the welfare of Rover, Tabby, and the
mare Topsy. Commensurate with the happiness that had been hers during
those ten minutes came now her remorse.
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