It was some three hours later that Charlotte sat down for a moment to
rest on the little vine-covered back porch. The breakfast work and the
bed-making were over, the kitchen was in order, and there was time to
draw breath before plunging into the next set of duties.
Celia had gone up-stairs to some summer sewing she had on hand; Captain
Rayburn had taken the baby around the corner to a pretty park, where the
two spent long hours now, in the perfect June weather; the boys were at
school, and the house was very still.
Charlotte stretched her arms above her head, drawing a long breath.
"How long ago it seems that I was free after breakfast to do what I
wanted to!" she said to herself. "And how little I realised all the
cares that were always on mother! Oh, if it were only time for them to
come back--this day--this hour--this minute! I wouldn't mind the work
now, if they were only here."
The girl's gaze, fixed wistfully on the leafy treetops above her,
suddenly dropped to earth. A man's figure was stumbling along the little
path which led diagonally from the back of the Birch premises through a
gateway and off toward a back street, the route by which Lanse was
accustomed to take an inconspicuous short cut toward the locomotive
shops, by the river.
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