The Seventh Noon Part 19

Her cheeks had taken on color. She looked like one inspired.

Donaldson sat dumb in admiration of her splendid courage.

"How long," he asked, "how long would it take you to get ready to leave here?"

She scarcely understood. She didn't dare to understand for fear it might be a mistake.

"I mean," he said, "if you had a chance to go back to the farm how long would it take you to pack up?"

"You don't mean if--if I _really_ had the chance?"

He nodded.

"Lord, if I had the chance--if I _really_ had the chance, I 'd leave afore to-morrer night."

"To-morrow is Sunday. But it seems as though you might get ready to take the noon train on Tuesday."

She thought he was merely carrying her dream a little farther than she had ever ventured to carry it herself. So she looked at him with a smile checked half-way by the beauty of the fantasy.

"It's too good a'most to dream about," she sighed.

"It is n't a dream," he answered, "unless it is a dream come true.

Pack up such things as you wish to take with you and be ready to leave at noon Tuesday."

"Peter Donaldson!"

"I 'm in earnest," he a.s.sured her.

"Peter, Peter, it _can't_ be true! I can't believe it!"

There were tears in her eyes.

"Hush," he pleaded. "Don't--don't do that. Sit down. Had n't you better sit down?"

She obeyed as meekly as a child, her hands clasped in her lap.

"Now," he said, "I 'll tell you what I want to do; I 'm going to buy the farm for you and I 'm going to get a couple of cows or so, a yard full of chickens, a horse and a porker, and start you fair."

"But why should _you_ do this?" she demanded.

"I don't exactly know," he answered. "But I 'm going to do for you so far as I can what Jim would have done if he had lived."

"But you did n't know Jim!"

"I did n't, but I know him now. The kids introduced me."

"He was a good man--a very good man, Peter."

"Yes, he must have been that. I am glad that I can do something to finish a good man's work."

"You are rich? You can afford this?"

"Yes, I can afford it. But I don't feel that I 'm giving,--I 'm getting. It would not be possible for me to use my money with greater satisfaction to myself."

"Oh, you are generous!"

"No, not I. I can't claim that. I 've been selfish--intensely, cowardly selfish."

He meant to stand squarely before this woman. He would not soil his act by any hypocrisy. But she only smiled back at him unbelieving.

He glanced at his watch. It was eight o'clock. He was ready now to return to the hotel. He wished to leave at once, for he shrank from the undeserved grat.i.tude he saw welling up in her eyes.

"You must listen carefully to what I tell you," he said, "for I may not be able to see you again before you leave. Do you think you can get ready without any help?"

"Yes," she answered excitedly; "there is n't much here to pack up."

"If I were you I would n't pack up anything but what I could put in a trunk. Sell off these things for what you can get and start fresh.

I'll send you enough to furnish the house."

"I ought to do that much myself," she objected feebly.

"No, I want to do this thing right up chuck. As soon as I reach the hotel I will telephone the Deacon. If I can't buy that house, I 'll get another, and in either case, I will drop you a note to-night. I 'll arrange to have the deed left with some one up there, and I 'll also deposit in the local bank enough for the other things. So all you 've to do is to get ready and start on Tuesday. Do you understand?"

"Yes! Yes!" she gasped. "But it doesn't sound true--it sounds like a dream."

"Are you going to have faith enough to act on it?"

"Oh, I did n't mean that I doubted! I trust you, Peter Donaldson."

He reached in his pocket and took out five ten-dollar bills.

"This is for your fare and to settle up any little accounts you may have."

She took the money with trembling fingers while Bobby and Sis crowded around to gape at it.

"There," exclaimed Donaldson in relief. "Now you 're all fixed up, and on Monday morning Bobby can throw up his job. He can fire the company."

"Gee!" he gasped.

And almost before any of them could catch their breath he had kissed the baby, gripped Mrs. Wentworth's hand a second, and with a "S'long"

to the others disappeared as though, Sis declared, a magician had waved his wand over him.

It was after nine before he finally reached the Waldorf. No message was waiting for him from either the girl or Saul. He hunted up the telephone operator at once.

"Call up Berringdon, Vermont, for me, please."

"With whom do you wish to talk?"

"With Deacon Staples."