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Updated: May 29, 2025
At heart something of a Puritan, the straight-backed chairs and unreposeful sofa, the secretary with its diamond-paned doors and glass knobs, the quaint old jardinières brought from China a century ago, pleased her fancy. How Genevieve Whittredge had smiled and shrugged her shoulders! In those days their half antagonistic friendship had not suffered a complete break.
Whittredge thought it hardly worth while to enter her in school for two months, but at the instigation of Miss Herbert some home instruction was begun. This Uncle Allan had no conscience about interrupting whenever he wanted Rosalind for a drive or walk. As yet he said nothing about leaving Friendship.
Whittredge seemed to find words difficult. She looked down at the table on which her right hand rested. "I have made many mistakes," she began, "but I have never meant to wrong any one. At the time of my husband's illness I there were things said I did not agree with Dr. Fair, and I may have gone too far. It is my misfortune to be intense. I was very unhappy. I thought the case was not understood.
Here, however, her grandmother's sadness took on a deeper tinge as she moved among the mounds that lay in the shadow of the massive granite monument with "Whittredge" in letters of bronze at its base.
The atmosphere of Friendship was clearing; the trouble which had first shown itself when Patterson Whittredge left his home had begun to lift with the coming of his daughter. Not that Rosalind had anything to do with it; it was only one of those bits of poetical justice that go to make life interesting.
Whittredge's glance often rested upon her granddaughter with a sort of wistful affection, and once, when their eyes met, Rosalind, with a quick impulse, had gone to her side and put her arms around her. Mrs. Whittredge returned the caress, saying, "I shall be sorry to give you up, dearie."
The magician was evidently expecting them, for he at once began distributing pointed sticks. "What are they for?" asked Belle. This was soon explained. Mr. Whittredge produced a tin box from somewhere and proceeded to open it, and Katherine, who was next him, said, "Marshmallows."
Whittredge on her daily drive usually stopped there, and its winding paths and green slopes, its drooping willows and graceful oaks, and the flowers that bloomed everywhere, around the stately shafts of marble and the low headstones, seemed to her very pleasant.
Once there, she decided she would stay awhile to rest and finish the chapter. The day was warm, and she strolled along in lazy fashion. The Whittredge house as she passed looked deserted. The front shutters were closed, and no one was to be seen. Rosalind had gone away with her uncle for a few days.
"You all ought to be dealt with for getting into such mischief," he said. "And now don't cry any more. Many a soldier has run away from his first battle-field. If I were you, I'd own up I had been a coward and say I was sorry. Do you want to come back with me, and see the end of this adventure?" Greatly comforted, Katherine dried her eyes and decided to go with Mr. Whittredge.
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