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Carol had forgotten her facile hopes. She looked about with impersonal eyes. But Kennicott, through rain-blurred lashes, caught the glory that was Back Home. She noted bare tree-trunks, black branches, the spongy brown earth between patches of decayed snow on the lawns. The vacant lots were full of tall dead weeds. Stripped of summer leaves the houses were hopeless temporary shelters.
Half-forgotten emotions of girlhood began to stir within her; she flushed, smiled, sighed at her own thoughts, she dreamed, and came bewildered out of her dreams, like a child. What Clarence did, what Carol did, mattered no longer; she, Rachael, again had the centre of the stage. Weeks flew by.
And the mother of these parsonage girls, had further divided her portion to make it reach through her own family of girls! Prudence had a small but beautiful chain of tiny pearls. Fairy's share consisted of a handsome brooch, with a "sure-enough diamond" in the center! The twin rubies of another brooch had been reset in rings for Carol and Lark, and were the priceless treasures of their lives!
We intended to present Dickens' Christmas Carol, Scrooge and Marley, but in consequence of our trip to the West Indies it was postponed until the coming Easter. The play was dramatized by Sergeant Smith; the characters had been cast and rehearsed before we left.
Indeed, when she had her own supper, she joined the Kennicotts, and how ludicrous it was to suppose that Maud was a gourmet of emotions Carol saw in the fact that she talked not to one of the town beaux but to the safe Kennicott himself! When Carol glanced at Erik again she discovered that Mrs. Bogart had an eye on her.
"Tw-oo! Tw-oo!" It was the canary starting on a preliminary carol. "So I thought it best," she concluded tremulously, "not to see you again. It would only be two days, and after that it would be easier. I could always be thinking of you just the same, Mr. Lancelot, always. That wouldn't annoy you, sir, would it? Because you know, sir, you wouldn't know it."
Hicks had gone, he raged, "Some folks don't know what they want!" "Sweating sanctimonious bully my husband's uncle!" thought Carol. She crept into Dave Dyer's. Dave held up his arms with, "Don't shoot! I surrender!" She smiled, but it occurred to her that for nearly five years Dave had kept up this game of pretending that she threatened his life.
He leaped from the buggy, twisted the reins about the whip-socket, swung her out, caught up his gun, slipped in two shells, stalked toward the rigid dog, Carol pattering after him. The setter crawled ahead, his tail quivering, his belly close to the stubble. Carol was nervous. She expected clouds of large birds to fly up instantly. Her eyes were strained with staring.
Brought together accidentally at the time of the Jerrold testimonial, the Honorary Secretary of the fund and the Author-reader of the "Carol" came, as it seems now, quite naturally, to be afterwards intimately associated with one another, more in connection with the scheme of professional Readings, which reasonably grew up at last out of the previous five years' Readings, of a purely complimentary character.
"I tell you what," said Carol hopefully, "let's bring the mattress and the blankets from my bed and put them on the floor here beside David, and we can all sleep nicely right together." "Oh, that's lovely," cried Miss Landbury. "You are the dearest thing, Mrs. Duke."
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