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"Dey been gone purty near an hour, Mist' Sandy. I 'spec' dey's got dat low-down rascal hanged by now." There was an early tea at Willowvale that evening, and Ruth sat at the big round table alone. Mrs. Nelson always went to bed when the time came for packing, and Carter was late, as usual. Ruth was glad to be alone. She had passed through too much to be able to banish all trace of the storm.
Off in the distance he could see the twinkling lights of Clayton. One was apart from the rest; that was Willowvale. A sob aroused him. Annette, left to herself, had collapsed. He patiently put forth a fatherly hand and patted her shoulder. "There, there, Nettie! You'll be all right in the morning." "I won't!" she declared petulantly. "You don't know anything ab-b-bout being in love."
Whipping the already jaded horse to a run, he dashed through the crowded streets, over the bridge, and out the turnpike. Ruth stood at one of the windows at Willowvale, peering anxiously out into the darkness. Her figure showed distinctly against the light of the room behind her, but Sandy did not see her. His soul was in a wild riot of grief and revenge.
They had their breakfast early, and I can read to them till we get to Willowvale where their grandmother will meet us." But Betty had not finished. She loved the feel of soft little arms about her neck and there was not much connected with a baby's welfare she did not know about. Many a Pineville baby she had washed and dressed and fed as correctly as a model baby should be.
If he didn't, I'm sure I'd live East the rest of my days, or at least till the children are grown up. I'll never have the courage to try a long train trip with them again." Before Willowvale was reached Betty helped Mrs. Clenning get her wraps and bags together and tied the babies into bewitching white bonnets with long fluted strings.
At the Willowvale gate he led the horse into the avenue, then turned and ran at full speed into town. As he came into the square he found only a few groups shivering about the court-house steps, discussing the events of the day. "Where's the crowd?" he cried breathless. "Aren't they going to start from here?" An old negro pulled off his cap and grinned.
Just when it was definitely announced that Willowvale was to be sold, Ruth Nelson returned, after a year's absence, and opened the old home. Mrs. Nelson did not come with her. That excellent lady had concluded to bestow her talents upon a worthier object. In her place came Miss Merritt, a quiet little sister of Ruth's mother, who proved to be to the curious public a pump without a handle.
"We take on a parlor car at Willowvale," the porter assured Betty, only too sympathetically, for he had been waiting on the woman and her children since the afternoon before. "I'll see that you get a chair then, Miss." Betty settled herself as comfortably as she could and opened her magazine. "Read to me?" suggested a little voice, and a sticky hand caressed her skirt timidly.
By noon business was virtually abandoned, for Clayton was getting ready to go to the wedding. Willowvale extended a welcome to the world. The wide front gates stood open, the big-eyed poplars beamed above the oleanders and the myrtle, while the thrushes and the redwings twittered and caroled their greetings from on high.
Willowvale, the Nelson homestead, lay in the last curve of the river, just before it left the restrictions of town for the freedom of fields and meadows.
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