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Updated: May 25, 2025
His path led once by the home of Medaine Robinette, and he clambered toward the little house with little more of feeling than of approaching that of the most unfamiliar ranchman. Smoke was coming from the chimney. There were the marks of snowshoes. But they might mean nothing in the battle for existence. Houston scrambled up to the veranda and banged on the door.
"Bigger than England, but not as big as the British Empire!" suggested Carnaby, feeling the conversation was drifting into his ken. "It's just the size of the moon, I've heard!" said Robinette teasingly. "Does that throw any light on the question?" "Moonlight!" laughed Carnaby, much pleased with his own wit. "Ha! ha! That's the first joke I've made this holidays. Moonlight! Jolly good!"
"He needs everything you need," Carnaby said with heightened colour. "My hair is giving me a good deal of trouble, lately," remarked Lavendar, passing his hand over a thickly thatched head. "I have an excellent American tonic that I will give you after breakfast," said Robinette roguishly.
How different from the stout middle-aged lady whom Mrs. de Tracy's words had conjured up when he set out to find her! "Old Mrs. Prettyman was my mother's nurse," Robinette remarked as Lavendar dipped his oars gently into the stream and began to row.
At that moment it began to rain, but nothing daunted, their hostess approached her, and saying pleasantly that she wished to introduce her to Miss Meredith, she left Robinette and the young woman standing together under a spreading tree, and took the gentleman away with her. The moment that she heard the name, Robinette realized who Miss Meredith was.
Surely she would find the welcome there that was lacking here, and the touch of human kindness that one craved in a foreign land. But no! Robinette called to her aid her strong American common sense and the "grit" that her countrymen admire. Was she to confess herself routed in the very first onset the very first attempt in storming the ancestral stronghold?
Two persons were approaching the cabin from the opposite hill, a girl whom he was glad to see, and a man who walked, or rather rolled, in the background: Medaine Robinette and a sort of rear guard who, twenty or thirty feet behind her, followed her every step, trotted when she ran down the steep side of an embankment, then slowed as she came to a walk again.
"Yes, I am staying at Stoke Revel for a short time," Robinette replied; "Mrs. de Tracy is my aunt, or at least I am Admiral de Tracy's niece." Her companion did not seem to take the least interest in this part of the information, only when Stoke Revel was mentioned she looked around suddenly as if surprised.
She bent over the chair, and her voice was like a dove's voice, Lavendar thought, as she spoke. Then the little melancholy carriage was wheeled away. Motherhood always seemed the most sacred, the supreme experience to Robinette; a thing high and beautiful like the topmost blooms of Nurse Prettyman's plum tree.
"Don't forget your parcel," Carnaby exclaimed, darting after Lavendar as they went into the street. "You've left it on the counter." "How careless!" said Mark. "It was for my sister." "You never told me you had a sister," said Robinette, as they walked together, Lavendar wheeling his bicycle and Carnaby sulking behind them.
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