Part 13 (1/2)

”And far across the hills they went To that new world which is the old.”

In rus.h.i.+ng, eager tenderness she browsed through one book after another, sometimes silently, sometimes with a little crooning quotation, where corners were turned down. And when she had quite finished, her eyes were like stars, and she looked up tremulously, and whispered:

”Why, we--like--just--the--same--things.”

But the Youngish Man did not smile back at her. His face in that second turned suddenly old-looking and haggard and gray. He threw the books back into their places, and slammed the trunk-cover with a bang.

For just the infinitesimal fraction of a second the Man and the Girl looked into each other's eyes. For just that infinitesimal fraction of a second the Man's eyes were as unfathomable as the Girl's.

Then with a great sniff and scratching and whine, the White Bulldog pushed his way into the room, and the Girl jumped up in alarm to note that the sun was dropping very low in the west, and that the shadows of late afternoon crept palpably over her companion's face.

For a moment the two stood awkwardly without a word, and then the Girl with a conscious effort at lightness queried:

”But _where_ did the Runaway Road go to? I _must_ find out.”

The Youngish Man turned as though something had startled him.

”Wouldn't you rather leave things just as they are?” he asked.

”NO!” The Girl stamped her foot vehemently. ”NO! I want everything. I want the whole adventure.”

”The whole adventure?” The Youngish Man winced at the phrase, and then laughed to cover his seriousness.

”All right,” he acquiesced. ”I'll show you just where the Runaway Road goes to.”

Without further explanation he stepped to the dooryard and scooped up two heaping handfuls of gravel from the Road. As he came back into the room he trailed a little line of earth across the floor to the foot of the stairs, and threw the remaining handful up the steps just as a heedless child might have done.

”Go follow your Runaway Road,” he smiled, ”and see where it leads to, if you are so eager! I'm going down to the woods to see if my brother is quite lost in his clouds.”

Wasn't that _another_ dare? It seemed a craven thing to tease for a climax and then s.h.i.+rk it. She had never s.h.i.+rked anything yet that was right, no matter how unusual it was.

She started for the stairs. One step, two steps, three steps, four steps--her riding-boots grated on the gravel. ”Oh, you funny Runaway Road,” she trembled, ”where _do_ you go to?”

At the top stairs a tiny waft of earth turned her definitely into the first doorway.

She took one step across the threshold, and then stood stock-still and stared. It was a _woman's room_. And from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall flaunted an incongruous, moneyed effort to blot out all temperament and pang and trenchant life-history from one spot at least of the little old gray farmhouse. Bauble was there, and fas.h.i.+on and novelty, but the whole gay decoration looked and felt like the sumptuous dressing of a child whom one _hated_.

With a gasp of surprise the Girl went over and looked at herself in the mirror.

”Wouldn't I look queer in a room like this?” she whispered to herself.

But she didn't look queer at all. She only felt queer, like a flatted note.

Then she hurried right down the stairs again, and went out in the yard, and caught the White Pony, and climbed up into her saddle.

The Youngish Man came running to say good-by.

”Well?” he said.

The Girl's eyes were steady as her hand. If her heart fluttered there was no sign of it.