Strawberry Acres Part 6

And, to a man, they nodded. Suddenly, they could not speak.

CHAPTER IV

ARGUMENTS AND ANSWERS

"I'm sure that's as good a report as we could hope for," urged Josephine Burnside. But the anxiety in her eyes somewhat qualified her cheerfulness.

Maxwell Lane shook his head doubtfully.

"'Holding her own'--that's all they've said the last three days," he said.

"Yes, but that's a good deal at this stage. It's the end of the second week."

"She's out of her head."

"They usually are, I think."

The pair emerged from the door of the hospital.

"Well, I'm glad I met you here," said Max. "It's kind of you to come so often."

"It's not kind at all. I couldn't stay away. And if I could, Jarvis wouldn't let me. No telephone messages will satisfy him."

"Good old fellow. How are his eyes?"

"Worse than ever. Mother and I take turns reading to him, while he tramps the floor. We should try to get him off somewhere into the country, but he won't leave until Sally is out of the hospital. And I've no idea he will leave then, he'll be so anxious to do things for her."

"Good old chap," murmured Max again, absently. He was looking at Josephine as if an idea had struck him. "Are you going to do anything in particular the rest of the afternoon?"

"I don't know that I am. Why?"

"Don't you want to invite me to drive out into the country in your trap?

The roads are pretty good now, and I ought to go out and take a look at the farm. Besides, I'm too restless to keep still. Sat.u.r.day afternoons and Sundays are tough to get through with, just now."

"I shall be delighted. Come home with me, and we'll start right away. I should like to see the place again, too."

Fifteen minutes by trolley-car, and ten to allow for the ordering of the trap, and the two young people were driving away. Josephine held the reins over the back of a fine gray mare that seemed glad to get out of the stable on this sunny May afternoon. The roads were even better than Max had predicted, and the seven-mile drive was soon over.

"There are the pines." Josephine pointed with her whip. "How far away they show, against the lighter foliage. I'm fond of pines--they make me think of the mountains. You're lucky to have that grove. If you ever live here, it will be a lovely spot for hot summer afternoons."

"We'll never live here, if I can help it," answered Max. "As for the pine grove, the best thing to do with that is to cut it down and get the money out of it."

"Max!" exclaimed Josephine. "Don't do that without the permission of every member of your family and most of your friends. What's the money?"

"The money's a good deal to me. This illness of Sally's--"

"Sell the books, if you must, but not the trees. Of course you ought to keep both, but don't--_don't_ cut down those trees!"

"You're as bad as Sally about this old place. h.e.l.lo, there's some one in the grove now! What's he doing? Standing on his head?"

For a leg could be descried waving in the air, while its owner apparently lay partly on his back, his shoulders against a tree trunk. As the trap came nearer, the man could be seen distinctly; he was reading, with one leg balancing across the knee of the other.

"Seems to have taken possession of my grounds. I suppose he also would object if I offered to cut down the grove. Is he going to see us? No--too absorbed in his yellow novel."

"He sees us. But we're nothing to him. He's turned back to his page.

Shall we drive in? Are you going to get out?"

"Yes, of course, if only to show that chap I'm the owner of his lounging place."

Josephine turned in, and the trap swung through the gateway and on past the pine grove. Max saw the reader get to his feet.

"Coming to apologize," murmured Max. "Well, if he asks permission, he can stay--till I cut down the grove."

Before the horse had been tied, the stranger was at hand. "Since I'm caught in the act, I'll come and ask if I may," he said, genially. "This is Mr. Lane, I believe. I'm Donald Ferry, a neighbour of yours. Your fine grove is a sort of 'call of the wild' to me."

Max shook hands, attracted at once by both voice and face. Donald Ferry was a st.u.r.dy young man, with broad shoulders and a thick thatch of reddish-brown hair; he possessed a pair of searching but friendly hazel eyes. He was dressed in a rough suit of blue serge, and a gray flannel shirt with a rolling collar and flowing blue tie gave him an out-door air confirmed by the tan and freckles on his face and the sinewy grip of his brown hand. He had closed his book and tucked it under his arm, so that its t.i.tle could not be observed, but it had not exactly the look of a "yellow novel."

"You're entirely welcome to make use of the grove as much as you like,"

Max answered, with the cordiality he could not help feeling toward the possessor of so frank and genial a look as that with which the strange young man continued to regard him.

"I live with my mother in the little house on the other side of the grove," explained Mr. Ferry. "We've been living there for a fortnight, but this is the first time I've caught sight of anybody about the place.

It seemed so completely deserted I've been proposing to my mother that we appropriate the house. But she seems a trifle appalled by the size of it.

On the whole, for us, ours is rather the better fit."

"This house is too big to fit anything but an orphan asylum," said Max, with a wave toward the brick walls now heavily vine-clad with the tender green leaf.a.ge of May. "It's in bad shape, from chimneys to cellar. Just the same, I've a sister who is wild to live here."

"Yet you are the one who comes out to look over the place? Perhaps you have a sort of sneaking fondness for it, after all!"

"My sister would come if she could. She's in the hospital with typhoid,"

explained Max, wondering, as he did so, how he came to be giving details like these in his first conversation with a stranger. He really liked the look of the fellow extraordinarily well.

"This will be a great place for her to grow strong in, by and by,"

suggested the other, his tone indicating his sympathy with the situation.

"The pine grove, in June, will be better than a sanatorium."

Max shook his head. "It's not practical for us to think of living here.

Of course we can bring her out for a day at a time."

"You might put up a tent in the grove. Nothing like out-doors for convalescents--and for well people. Well, Mr. Lane, thank you immensely for letting me feel free of the grove--until you come to live. I am fairly sure you will come to live here some day. It's an irresistible old place."

He took his leave with a pleasant grace of manner which, in spite of the rough old suit and flannel shirt, spoke of training in other places than pine groves.

When he had gone off among the pines toward the hedge, which lay between the grove and the little white cottage on the side toward Wybury, Max rejoined Josephine. "He looked a pretty good sort, didn't he? If anybody did live here, he'd be an interesting neighbour. I hardly knew there was a house there, did you?"

"Oh, yes, I saw it as we came by. It had been freshly painted white, and I noticed how pleasant it looked. It's a tiny house. Unless his mother is smaller than he is, it certainly must be a tight fit."