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She sang at her work, to burst out into sudden tears. Other things were not going well. Schwitter had given up his nursery business; but the motorists who came to Hillfoot did not come back. When, at last, he took the horse and buggy and drove about the country for orders, he was too late. Other nurserymen had been before him; shrubberies and orchards were already being set out.
Each river contributed to the formation of those bogs and meres, instead of draining them away; repeating on a huge scale the process which may be seen in many a highland strath, where the ground at the edge of the stream is firm and high; the meadows near the hillfoot, a few hundred yards away, bogland lower than the bank of the stream.
K., going in one day to take Johnny Rosenfeld a basket of fruit, saw her there with a child in her arms, and a light in her eyes that he had never seen before. It hurt him, rather things being as they were with him. When he came out he looked straight ahead. With the opening of spring the little house at Hillfoot took on fresh activities. Tillie was house-cleaning with great thoroughness.
Gordon had seen her on the hillside, probably long before she saw him, had been coming to her in as straight a line as the ground would permit, and at length was out of the boggy level, and ascending the slope of the hillfoot to where she sat. When he was within about twenty yards of her she gave him a little nod, and then fixed her eyes on her knitting.
The message from Schwitter was very brief: "Something has happened, and Tillie wants you. I don't like to trouble you again, but she wants you." K. was rather gray of face by that time, having had no sleep and little food since the day before. But he got into the rented machine again its rental was running up; he tried to forget it and turned it toward Hillfoot.
He moved over to Christine's small writing-table and, seating himself, proceeded to write out the directions for reaching Hillfoot. Behind him, Christine had taken his place on the hearth-rug and stood watching his head in the light of the desk-lamp. "What a strong, quiet face it is," she thought.
Lights blazed in every window; a dozen automobiles were parked before the barn. Somebody was playing a piano. From the bar came the jingle of glasses and loud, cheerful conversation. When Schwitter turned the horse's head back toward Hillfoot, his mind was made up.
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