So he took her to her waiting car.
For a moment he stood looking thoughtfully after the
departing machine and then, with an odd little smile,
went back to his work.
IN THE NIGHT
Helen knew, even as she told the chauffeur to drive
her home, that she did not wish to return just then
to the big house on the hill. Her mind was too
crowded with thoughts she could not entertain in the
atmosphere of her home; her heart was too deeply moved
by emotions that she scarcely dared acknowledge even
to herself.
She thought of the country club, but that, in her
present mood, was impossible. The Interpreter—she
was about to tell Tom that she wished to call at the
hut on the cliff, but decided against it. She
feared that she might reveal to the old basket maker
things that she wished to hide. She might go
for a drive in the country, but she shrank from being
alone. She wanted some one who could take her
out of herself—some one to whom she could
talk without betraying herself.
Not far from the Mill a number of children were playing
in the dusty road.
Helen did not notice the youngsters, but Tom, being
a careful driver, slowed down, even though they were
already scurrying aside for the automobile to pass.
Suddenly she was startled by a shrill yell. “Hello,
there! Hello, Miss!”
Bobby Whaley, in his frantic efforts to attract her
attention, was jumping up and down, waving his cap
and screeching like a wild boy, while his companions
looked on in wide-eyed wonder, half in awe at his
daring, half in fear of the possible consequence.
To the everlasting honor and glory of Sam Whaley’s
son, the automobile stopped. The lady, looking
back, called, “Hello, Bobby!” and waited
expectantly for him to approach.
With a look of haughty triumph at Skinny and Chuck,
the lad swaggered forward, a grin of overpowering
delight at his achievement on his dirty, freckled
countenance.
“I am so glad you called to me,” Helen
said, when he was close. “I was just wishing
for some one to go with me for a ride in the country.
Would you like to come?”
“Gee,” returned the urchin, “I’ll
say I would.”
“Do you think your mother would be willing for
you to go?”
“Lord, yes—ma, she ain’t a-carin’
where we kids are jest so’s we ain’t under
her feet when she’s a-workin’.”
“And could you find Maggie, do you think?
Perhaps she would enjoy the ride, too.”
Bobby lifted up his voice in a shrill yell, “Mag!
Oh—oh—Mag!”
The excited cry was caught up by the watching children,
and the neighborhood echoed their calls. “Mag!
Oh, Mag! Somebody wants yer, Mag! Come a-runnin’.
Hurry up!”
