The Land of Promise Part 38

"How are you getting along, Nora?" His manner was still a little constrained. They were both thinking of their last parting. But she, being a woman, could carry it off better.

"Oh, never mind about me," she said gayly. "Tell me all about yourself.

How's Gertie? And what has brought you to this part of the world? And what's Reggie Hornby doing here? And is Thingamajig still with you; you know, the hired man?"--The word "other" almost slipped out.--"What _was_ his name, Trotter, wasn't it? Oh, my dear, don't sit there like a stuffed pig, but answer my questions, or I'll shake you."

"My dear child, I can't answer fifteen questions all at once!"

"Oh, Eddie, I'm so glad to see you! You are a perfect duck to come and see me."

"Now let me get a word in edgeways."

"I won't utter another syllable. But, for goodness' sake, hurry up. I want to know all sorts of things."

"Well, the most important thing is that I'm expecting to be a happy father in three or four months."

"Oh, Eddie, I'm so glad! How happy Gertie must be."

"She doesn't know what to make of it. But I guess she's pleased right enough. She sends you her love and says she hopes you'll follow her example very soon."

"I?" said Nora sharply. "But," she added with a return to her gay tone, "you've not told me what you're doing in this part of the world, anyway."

"Anyway?"

Nora blushed. "I've practically spoken to no one but Frank for months; it's natural that I should fall into his way of speaking."

"Well, when I got Frank's letter about the clearing-machine----"

"Frank has written to you?"

"Why, yes; didn't you know? He said there was a clearing-machine going cheap at Prentice. I've always thought I could make money down our way if I had one. They say you can clear from three to four acres a day with one. Frank thought it was worth my while to come and have a look at it and he said he guessed you'd be glad to see me."

"How funny of him not to say anything to me about it," said Nora, frowning once more.

"I suppose he wanted to surprise you. And now for yourself; how do you like being a married woman?"

"Oh, all right. But you haven't answered half my questions yet. Why has Reggie Hornby come with you?"

"Do you realize I've not seen you since before you were married?"

"That's so; you haven't, have you?"

"I've been a bit anxious about you. That's why, when Frank wrote about the clearing-machine, I didn't stop to think about it, but just came."

"It was awfully nice of you. But why has Reggie Hornby come?"

"Oh, he's going back to England."

"Is he?"

"Yes, he got them to send his pa.s.sage money at last. His ship doesn't sail till next week, and he said he might just as well stop over here and say good-by to you."

"How has he been getting on?"

"How do you expect? He looks upon work as something that only d.a.m.ned fools do. Where's Frank?"

"Oh, he's out with Sid Sharp. Sid's our neighbor. He has the farm you pa.s.sed on your way here."

"Getting on all right with him, Nora?"

"Why, of course," said Nora with just a suggestion of irritation in her voice.

"What's that boy doing all this time?" she asked, going over to the window and looking out. "He _is_ slow, isn't he?"

But Marsh was not a man whom it was easy to side-track.

"It's a great change for you, this, after the sort of life you've been used to."

"I was rather hoping you'd have some letters for me," said Nora from the window. "I haven't had a letter for a long time."

As a matter of fact she had no reason to expect any, not having answered Miss Pringle's last and having practically no other correspondent. But the speech was a happy one, in that it created the desired diversion.

"There now!" said her brother with an air of comical consternation.

"I've got a head like a sieve. Two came by the last mail. I didn't forward them, because I was coming myself."

"You don't mean to tell me you've forgotten them!"

"No; here they are."

Nora took them with a show of eagerness. "They don't look very exciting," she said, glancing at them. "One's from Agnes Pringle, the lady's companion that I used to know at Tunbridge Wells, you remember.

And the other's from Mr. Wynne."

"Who's he?"

"Oh, he was Miss Wickham's solicitor. He wrote to me once before to say he hoped I was getting on all right. I don't think I want to hear from people in England any more," she said in a low voice, more to herself than to him, tossing the letters on the table.

"My dear, why do you say that?"

"It's no good thinking of the past, is it?"

"Aren't you going to read your letters?"

"Not now; I'll read them when I'm alone."

"Don't mind me."

"It's silly of me; but letters from England always make me cry."

"Nora! Then you aren't happy here."