he said.

"Oh, no, you won't. I shall run in to see you every whipst.i.tch.

You will get awfully sick of having me around."

"I am thinking of the time when you are married, Viola, and,--and have gone away from Lafayette."

"Well," she began, her brow clouding, "you seem to have got along without me for a good many years,--so I guess you won't miss me as much as you think. Besides, we are supposed to be enemies, aren't we?"

"It doesn't look much like it now, does it?"

"No," she said dubiously, "but I--I must not do anything that will make mother feel unhappy or--"

He broke in a little harshly. "Are you forgetting how unhappy it will make her if you marry Barry Lapelle?"

"Oh, that may be a long way off," she replied calmly. "You see, Barry and I quarrelled yesterday. We both have vile tempers,--perfectly detestable tempers. Of course, we will make up again--we always do--but there may come a time when he will say, 'Oh, what's the use trying to put up with you any longer?' and then it will all be over."

She was tying her bonnet strings as she made this astonishing statement. Her chin being tilted upward, she looked straight up into his eyes the while her long, shapely fingers busied themselves with the ribbons.

"I guess you have found out what kind of a temper I have, haven't you?" she added genially. As he said nothing (being unable to trust his voice): "I know I shall lead poor Barry a dog's life. If he knew what was good for him he would avoid me as he would the plague."

He swallowed hard. "You--you will not fail to come with me to-morrow morning on the purchasing tour," he said, rather gruffly. "I'll be helpless without you."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," she cried.

As they walked down to the gate she turned to him and abruptly said:

"Barry is going down the river next week. He expects to be away for nearly a fortnight. Has he said anything to you about it?"

Kenneth started. Next week? The dark of the moon.

"Not a word," he replied grimly.

CHAPTER XIV

A MAN FROM DOWN THE RIVER

Kenneth's first night in the old Gwyn house was an uneasy, restless one, filled with tormenting doubts as to his strength or even his willingness to continue the battle against the forces of nature.

Viola's night was also disturbed. Some strange, mysterious instinct was at work within her, although she was far from being aware of its significance. She lay awake for a long time thinking of him.

She was puzzled. Over and over again she asked herself why she had blushed when he looked down at her as she was tying her bonnet-strings, and why had she felt that queer little thrill of alarm? And why did he look at her like that? She answered this question by attributing its curious intensity to a brotherly interest--which was quite natural--and the awakening of a dutiful affection--but that did not in any sense account for the blood rushing to her face, so that she must have reminded him of a "turkey gobbler." She announced to her mother at breakfast:

"I don't believe I can ever think of Kenny as a brother."

Rachel Gwyn looked up, startled. "What was that you called him?"

she asked.

"Kenny. He has always been called that for short. And somehow, mother, it sounds familiar to me. Have I ever heard father speak of him by that name?"

"I--I am sure I do not know," replied her mother uneasily. "I doubt it. It must be a fancy, Viola."

"I can't get over feeling shy and embarra.s.sed when he looks at me,"

mused the girl. "Don't you think it odd? It doesn't seem natural for a girl to feel that way about a brother."

"It is because you are not used to each other," interrupted Rachel.

"You will get over it in time."

"I suppose so. You are sure you don't mind my going to the stores with him, mother?"

Her mother arose from the table. There was a suggestion of fatalism in her reply. "I think I can understand your desire to be with him." She went to the kitchen window and looked over at the house next door. "He is out in his back yard now, Viola," she said, after a long pause, "all dressed and waiting for you. You had better get ready."

"It will not hurt him to wait awhile," said Viola perversely. "In fact, it will do him good. He thinks he is a very high and mighty person, mother." She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. "I shall keep him waiting for just an hour."

Rachel's strong, firm shoulders drooped a little as she pa.s.sed into the sitting-room. She sat down abruptly in one of the stiff rocking-chairs, and one with sharp ears might have heard her whisper to herself:

"We cannot blindfold the eyes of nature. They see through everything."

It was nine o'clock when Viola stepped out into her front yard, reticule in hand, and sauntered slowly down the walk, stopping now and then to inspect some Maytime shoot. He was waiting for her outside his own gate.

"What a sleepy-head you are," was her greeting as she came up to him.

"I've been up since six o'clock," he said.

"Then, for goodness' sake, why have you kept me waiting all this time?"

"My dear Viola, I was not born yesterday, nor yet the day before,"

he announced, with aggravating calmness. "Long before you were out of short frocks and pantalettes I was a wise old gentleman."

"I don't know just what you mean by that."

"I learned a great many years ago that it is always best to admit you are in fault when a charming young lady says you are. If you had kept me waiting till noon I should still consider it my duty to apologize. Which I now do."

She laughed merrily. "Come along with you. We have much to do on this fine May day. First, we will go to the hardware store, saving the queensware store till the last,--like float at the end of a Sunday dinner."

And so they advanced upon the town, as fine a pair as you would find in a twelvemonth's search. First she conducted him to Jimmy Munn's feed and wagon-yard, where he contracted to spend the first half-dollar of the expedition by engaging Jimmy to haul his purchases up to the house.

"Put the sideboards on your biggest wagon, Jimmy," was Viola's order, "and meet us at Hinkle's."

She proved to be a very sweet and delightful autocrat. For three short and joyous hours she led him from store to store, graciously leaving to him the privilege of selection but in nine cases out of ten demonstrating that he was entirely wrong in his choice, always with the naive remark after the purchase was completed and the money paid in hand: "Of course, Kenny, if you would rather have the other, don't for the world let me influence you."

"You know more about it than I do," he would invariably declare.

"What do I know about carpets?"--or whatever they happened to be considering at the time.

She was greatly dismayed, even appalled, as they wended their way homeward, followed by the first wagonload of possessions, to find that he had spent the stupendous, unparalleled sum of two hundred and forty-two dollars and fifty cents.

"Oh, dear!" she sighed. "We must take a lot of it back, Kenny. Why didn't you keep track of what you were spending? Why, that's nearly a fourth of one thousand dollars."