It was all my
fault-or, at least, most of it. Grant's letter didn't reach me. I thought
you were still on the old farm. But no matter; it's all over now.
Come, don't cry any more, Mother dear. I'm going to take care of
you now."
It had been years since the poor, lonely woman had felt such
warmth of love. Her sons had been like her husband, chary of
expressing their affection; and like most Puritan families, there
was little of caressing among them. Sitting there with the rain on
the roof and driving through the trees, they planned getting back
into the old house. Howard's plan seemed to her full of splendor
and audacity. She began to understand his power and wealth now,
as he put it into concrete form before her.
"I wish I could eat Thanksgiving dinner there with you," he said at
last, "but it can't be thought of. However, I'll have you all in there
before I go home. I'm going out now and tell Grant. Now don't
worry any more; I'm going to fix it all up with him, sure." He gave
her a parting hug.
Laura advised him not to attempt to get to the barn; but as he
persisted in going, she hunted up an old rubber coat for him.
"You'll mire down and spoil your shoes," she said, glancing at his
neat calf gaiters.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151