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Updated: May 26, 2025
But the receiver was hung up with a click, and the young man tore up the steps to his room three at a bound. Dunham's mind was by no means at rest.
"Yes, I used to have pet chickens when I was a little thing." "You ought to adopt one of these," suggested Dunham. "That white one is a pretty creature." "Yes," said Lydia. "He looks as if he were Leghorn. Leghorn breed," she added, in reply to Dunham's look of inquiry. "He's a beauty." "Let me get him out for you a moment!" cried the young man, in his amiable zeal.
"I'm going to paint such a lovely picture of you this summer, dear," she said, studying his face fondly. "Of me? Oh, no." "Oh, yes. I won't admit that any one else can paint such a likeness of you as I can." "I hear good reports of your work." "My own reports?" she laughed. "No. Calvin's, Edna's, Mr. Dunham's." "John's, Mr. Dunham's?" Thinkright's answer was rather slow in coming, she thought.
Sylvia was certain of it, and it was a grave maiden who stepped sedately by Dunham's side as they struck across the field toward the dock. It never occurred to her that if something had happened to offend Edna the matter could concern anybody or anything but Dunham. Oh, how lovely the day was! How happy her morning had been!
"This matter's just like everything else, little girl. You haven't any call to do anything about it but just think right." "Oh," murmured Sylvia impatiently. "Yes, I know. It takes time, especially if you aren't in practice. That Mr. Dunham's an honest, manly chap?" He put it as a question. "Yes, indeed." "There, then." The visitor nodded. "So far, so good. He told me where you were."
"Oh, so am I!" ejaculated the girl, the angry tenseness of her face changing and her voice breaking as she threw up her hands in a despairing gesture. The pathos of the black figure struck through Dunham's mortification. "I wouldn't have hurt your feelings for anything," pursued Miss Martha earnestly. "Wouldn't you?" "No; and I wish you would believe it and not look at me so strangely.
Dunham regretted, as he had often regretted before, that his friend had no fixed religious belief; and Staniford gently accepted his solicitude, and said that he had at least a conviction if not a creed. He then begged Dunham's pardon in set terms for trying to wound his feelings the day before; and in the silent hand-clasp that followed they renewed all the cordiality of their friendship.
All the morning he lurked about, keeping out of Dunham's way, and fighting hard through a dozen pages of a book, to which he struggled to nail his wandering mind. A headache was a little matter, but it might be even less than a headache. He belated himself purposely at dinner, and entered the cabin just as Lydia issued from her stateroom door. She was pale and looked heavy-eyed.
He hurried into his sister's room to make a selection of a few necessities for the emergency only to have his assurance desert him at the very threshold. The room was immaculate, with no feminine finery lying about. Cornelia Dunham's maid was well trained. The only article that seemed out of place was a hand-box on a chair near the door.
On the day above referred to they set out to gather more vines, and they told the people at home that they were going to "Dunham's open" an old clearing beyond our farther pasture, where once a settler named Dunham had begun to clear a farm. The place was nearly two miles from the old Squire's, and as the girls did not expect to get home until four o'clock, they took their luncheon with them.
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