“No, I have not that honor. Your father is—” he hesitated again. Why hadn’t he thought up some excuse for the father who was not there? It seemed inexcusable—now that he saw the daughter—not to meet such a daughter! “Your father is—importantly engaged! He has only just arrived himself!”

He felt he was doing better.

“He only had opportunity to read your letter a few minutes ago, and it was impossible for him to get to the train. He asked me to meet you—”

She smiled with a rich warm welcome for her father’s friend, and he felt a glow of comfort.

“My name is Bannard,” he finished. “I hope we’re to be friends also.” He put out his hand, and she took it graciously and thanked him.

He directed her to his car and helped her in then hesitated: “Your baggage? Didn’t I see you check a suitcase? Wouldn’t you like me to get it?”

A soft rose bloomed out in the girl’s cheeks, and her lashes drooped deeply over her cheeks for an instant, then she lifted steady eyes and said: “No. I believe not, thank you. I’m not sure until I see—my father—whether I shall remain or go on to New York this afternoon.”

He found himself strangely disturbed over this state of things. He wanted to assure her that of course she must not go on anywhere. This was the place that needed her. But of course he could say nothing. He might not even tell her that her father was in trouble. He had not been given permission to do anything but bring her to her home and that by as long a route as possible.

“We’re going by a roundabout way,” he explained as he headed his car for a detour quite away from the old Silver place. “There’s a bad bit of road they are repairing—” He was thankful that he had happened to notice the men at work on his way down and therefore could truthfully give an explanation to this clear-eyed maiden who it seemed to him must be able to read his embarrassment through the very fabric of his coat.

“Shall we pass the old Presbyterian church?” she asked eagerly, leaning forward and looking around as though it were a spot she knew well by heart but had never seen with her eyes.

“Why, yes, we can,” he responded eagerly. “Are you especially interested in that?” And he looked down with a smile and then a wonder at the light in her eyes.

“It is where my father went to church,” she answered, as if repeating things she had learned well. “And there is a cemetery where my relatives are buried. I was interested to see it.”

He drove the car down a smooth ribbon of a road that curved around with wooded land on one side and mellow fields of rippling green on the other, with a glimpse off at the right of the Silver River and Frogtown factories smothered in pale budding willows against a turquoise sky.

“It is beautiful here, isn’t it?” The girl’s eyes glowed. She drew in long breaths of the spring air. There were violets at the side of the road, and it came to him how like her eyes they were.

They crossed a stone bridge and headed more directly toward the river, and she exclaimed over the bright winding ribbon of water. Just because he had promised to make the trip long, because he liked to see the wild rose color in the round cheeks glow when she opened her eyes wide at the view, he slowed down the car and checked some minute squeak in the engine. Not that it was important. Not that he did anything about it. Just a pleasant little delay. It seemed to him he was experiencing a charmed privilege that was slipping by all too quickly and that he would grasp as it went. It might not ever come his way again.

On their way again they wound around the clump of beeches and came into the main street of Silver Sands, all shining in the morning sunlight with serene houses on either side in long stretches of green, and new gardens in geometrical lines behind the houses flanked by regiments of beanpoles. A wide straw hat sheltered a lady picking strawberries in the patch of luxuriant vines. The breath of the day was sweet with growing things. The people walked crisply down the pleasant maple-shaded pavements as though the going were enjoyment. The anvil rang out with silver sound from the blacksmith shop as they passed. People began to hail the minister with a glad lighting of eyes, and he was kept busy lifting his hat and waving his hand cheerily. Even the boys in the street greeted him, and then curious half-jealous eyes turned to study his companion as they swept on their way.

“They all know you,” the girl commented.