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"I've always wished it since the days when Little-Dad used to ride that way and leave me home because it was too far. I know that everything that's the other side of the mountain is oh, lots different from Miller's Notch and school and Sunnyside and Kettle." Her voice was plaintively wistful, her eyes shining. "I know it's different.
Allan was already comfortably fixed. But at this moment Bigboy tried to leap into the car. When Dr. Travis gripped his collar he let out a long, protesting howl. "Oh, Bigboy he knows! Let me say good-by again," cried Jerry, jumping out and, to everyone's amusement, embracing the dog. "You must be a good dog and take very good care of my Sweetheart and Little-Dad," she whispered.
"Mother, darling, why do you look so sort of sad?" Jerry's voice was reproachful. "We're so happy now that we are together, aren't we? And it will be nice to have lots of things and Little-Dad won't ever have to worry and " Mrs. Travis lifted her hand suddenly and laid it across Jerry's lips. "Child, I am not sad.
The girls stared at Jerry and Jerry stared at John Westley. Was he just joking? How could it be? She turned to her mother. Her mother nodded again. "Yes, dear, you are Jerauld Winton. But we gave you your stepfather's name he was so good to us!" In that moment of unutterable surprise Jerry's loyal little heart went out quickly to Little-Dad.
"Charity girl " She did not know just what it meant, but it made her think of homeless, nameless, unloved waifs motherless, fatherless, dependent upon the world's generosity. Her hand went to her throat charity girl was not her beloved Sunnyside, with Sweetheart and Little-Dad, richer and more beautiful than anything on earth?
Little-Dad says that if a person could just bore right through Kettle you'd come out on the sixth hole of the Wayside Golf course only it'd be an awfully long bore." John Westley laughed hilariously. He had suddenly thought how carefully his guide always planned easy hikes for him. The girl went on. "But it's just a little way down this trail to Sunnyside that's where I live.
"Let's think of something jolly and different. Would you like to play travel? It's a game my mother and Little-Dad and I made up. It's lots of fun. We pick out a certain place and we say we're going there. We get time-tables for trains and boats and we decide just what we'll pack all pretend, of course.
Then we look up in the travel books all 'bout the place and we have the grandest time most as good as though we really went. Last winter we traveled through Scotland. It made the long evenings when we were shut in at Sunnyside pass like magic. Little-Dad has a perfect passion for time-tables and he never really goes anywhere in his life except in the game."
The old lilac bushes were in full leaf, the syringas were in blossom, there were still daffodils in the corner near the fir-tree gate; glossy, spiky leaves marked a row of onions just where her onions had always grown Little-Dad had put in her seed; the sun slanted in gold-brown bars across the bare floor of the familiar, low-ceilinged living-room, softening to a ruddy glow the bindings of the familiar books everywhere.
At the same moment her ear caught a sound that made her slip her bare feet quickly to the floor and stand, listening. It had been a soft step beneath her window a little sigh. In a flash Jerry sped down the narrow stairway, past the open door of the room where Little-Dad lay snoring, and out across the veranda.
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