I talked turkey
to that young man. Ye-es," with a slight smile, "I'm sort of afraid I
lost patience with Stevie."
When Caroline first saw the little house, with its shingled sides, the
dead vines over the porch, and the dry stalks of last year's flowers in
the yard, her heart sank. With the wind blowing and the bare branches
of the old apple tree scraping the roof and whining dolefully, it looked
bleak and forsaken. It was so different, so unhomelike, and so, to her
eyes, small and poverty-stricken. She made believe that she liked it,
exclaimed over the view--which, on the particular day, was desolate
enough--and declared the Dutch front door was "old-fashioned and dear."
But Captain Elisha, watching her closely, knew that she was only waiting
to be alone to give way to wretchedness and tears. He understood,
had expected that she would feel thus, but he was disappointed,
nevertheless. However, after the front door was passed and they were
inside the house, Caroline looked about her in delighted amazement. The
living room was small, but bright and warm and cheery. On its walls,
hiding the rather vivid paper, were hung some of the best of Rodgers
Warren's pictures--the Corot, the codfisher, and others. The furniture
and rugs were those which had been in the library of the apartment,
those she had been familiar with all her life.
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