“My!” said her father. “How
sweet she does sing! I don’t know as I
ever heard her voice sound nicer than it did just then.”
“There’s something that makes it sound
that way,” his wife told him.
“I suppose so,” he said, sighing.
“I suppose so. You think——”
“She’s just terribly in love with him!”
“I expect that’s the way it ought to be,”
he said, then drew upon his pipe for reflection, and
became murmurous with the symptoms of melancholy laughter.
“It don’t make things less of a puzzle,
though, does it?”
“In what way, Virgil?”
“Why, here,” he said—“here
we go through all this muck and moil to help fix things
nicer for her at home, and what’s it all amount
to? Seems like she’s just gone ahead the
way she’d ‘a’ gone anyhow; and now,
I suppose, getting ready to up and leave us!
Ain’t that a puzzle to you? It is to me.”
“Oh, but things haven’t gone that far
yet.”
“Why, you just said——”
She gave a little cry of protest. “Oh,
they aren’t engaged yet. Of course
they will be; he’s just as much interested
in her as she is in him, but——”
“Well, what’s the trouble then?”
“You are a simple old fellow!” his
wife exclaimed, and then rose from her chair.
“That reminds me,” she said.
“What of?” he asked. “What’s
my being simple remind you of?”
“Nothing!” she laughed. “It
wasn’t you that reminded me. It was just
something that’s been on my mind. I don’t
believe he’s actually ever been inside our house!”
“Hasn’t he?”
“I actually don’t believe he ever has,”
she said. “Of course we must——”
She paused, debating.
“We must what?”
“I guess I better talk to Alice about it right
now,” she said. “He don’t usually
come for about half an hour yet; I guess I’ve
got time.” And with that she walked away,
leaving him to his puzzles.
Alice was softly crooning to herself as her mother
turned the corner of the house and approached through
the dusk.
“Isn’t it the most beautiful evening!”
the daughter said. “Why can’t
summer last all year? Did you ever know a lovelier
twilight than this, mama?”
Mrs. Adams laughed, and answered, “Not since
I was your age, I expect.”
Alice was wistful at once. “Don’t
they stay beautiful after my age?”
“Well, it’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it? Not ever?”
“You may have a different kind from mine,”
the mother said, a little sadly. “I think
you will, Alice. You deserve——”
“No, I don’t. I don’t deserve
anything, and I know it. But I’m getting
a great deal these days—more than I ever
dreamed could come to me. I’m—I’m
pretty happy, mama!”
“Dearie!” Her mother would have kissed
her, but Alice drew away.
