“Let’s have strawberries and ice cream,” suggested Nannie. “I just love strawberries. It makes me fairly tremble with delight when they go down my throat.”
“I don’t know whether they’re in yet,” said Lucy.
“Oh, yes, they are. I saw some in a big fruit store in the city, and John got me some for breakfast.”
“I doubt whether we can get any out here, but I’ll send Dimmie to the store around the corner with a note to see.”
“Now don’t let me interfere with your arrangements. It doesn’t make any difference what I eat. I don’t want to make any bother while I’m here.”
“It’s no bother,” disclaimed Lucy.
She had already planned the dessert but did not know what else to say.
When Dimmie returned from the fruiterer’s he came into the kitchen and, with great pride, delivered the parcel to his mother.
“The man only had two boxes,” he announced, “an’ he said the money wasn’t enough for ’em, but it was all right. It’s all wrote in the note.”
“Thank you, darling,” said Lucy, kissing him.
“You should wipe your feet before you come into the house, Jimmie,” remonstrated his grandmother. “See how you have brought dirt into the kitchen. Little boys should learn to be thoughtful of others and not make work unnecessarily. That’s not helping.”
“Oh, it’s not mud. It will sweep out easily,” explained Lucy, smiling at Dimmie whose face had grown troubled.
“Well, I’m sure I didn’t mean to interfere, Lucy,” said Nannie. “I was only trying to help. You’re the one who has to clean up after him, not I. You are so different from what you used to be. We never used to have the slightest difference of opinion.”
Lucy continued to smile.
“I don’t think I am any different,” she replied.
“Yes, you are,” insisted her mother. “Getting married has changed you. I must say, though, I was agreeably surprised in your husband. John is really delightful, so kind and considerate. I overlooked everything and we became friends in no time. How much does he make?”
Lucy opened her eyes wide.
“He and Mr. Sprague are in partnership in business for themselves. Some months they make more than others.”
“What a sweet little house you have,” went on Nannie, whose conversation consisted mostly of beginnings. “How I long to have a home again!”
“John and Jim and I planned it out together,” explained Lucy, ignoring the last remark. “All those watercolors in the dining room and sitting room are John’s. I think they make the house look intimate and homelike.”
“This Mr. Sprague seems to be quite at home here,” Nannie interrupted. “Aren’t you afraid people will say things?”
Lucy gazed at her mother a moment without answering.
“Let me tell you about the house,” she suggested finally.
“You really must have a sideboard in your dining room, Lucy. It looks so bare. Do you remember the rosewood sideboard that Papa bought for Mamma when I was born? Cousin Minnie has gotten a table and chairs from an antique store and they match it beautifully.”
Lucy’s sense of humor came to her rescue.
“When we get rich we’ll have rosewood sideboards and lots of other things,” she said laughingly.
“Now you’re making fun of me, Lucy,” her mother complained in a hurt tone. “I only thought you might have a little interest in the furnishings of my old home. I didn’t mean that you could get one like it.”
Lucy went up and put her arms around Nannie.
“No, I wasn’t making fun of you, Mamma. Come into the sitting room and I’ll show you Dimmie’s baby pictures.”
“Really I’m so tired I think I’ll look at them later. I think I’ll lie down till luncheon is ready, if you don’t mind. I always make it a point to rest thoroughly for a few minutes during each day. You have no idea what a difference it would make in your looks, Lucy. You ought to make that a rule which nothing should interfere with. I think we owe it to others to keep ourselves attractive.”
“I’m afraid that’s easier said than done, Mamma. But try to get your nap. It will refresh you. I’ll call you when luncheon is ready.” Lucy spoke with determined good humor.
“Are you sure those trunks of mine are in safe hands, Lucy?” Nannie questioned again as she rose to go. “I have a presentiment that something will happen to them.”
“Now please don’t worry any more about them, Mamma. John wouldn’t employ any firm that was not perfectly reliable.”
“Well, I hope so,” sighed Nannie, moving toward the hall.
When, at six o’clock, the gate clicked and John’s step sounded on the walk, Lucy was occupied in making a gravy that Nannie had suggested, and so was unable to run with Dimmie to meet him as she usually did. She was conscious of a queer feeling of being left out as she heard him and Nannie come into the dining room together.
Mrs. Merwent had on a gown of lavender organdy, open at the throat, and a net fichu was draped about her shoulders. In the less trying light she looked more out of place in her maternal role than on the occasion of her arrival in the morning.
“Where’s Lucy?” John asked. He appeared to be tired and there was perspiration on his forehead. He smiled on Nannie’s fresh appearance.
“In the kitchen, I believe,” Nannie answered. “I’ve been busy getting the table ready.” She held some flowers in her hand, and as she spoke she was occupied in placing them in a vase. One half-opened rose she laid by John’s plate.
He went into the kitchen and kissed Lucy as usual. Her muslin dress was covered by an apron. Her face was flushed and a loose strand of hair brushed her cheek as she bent over her cooking. She replied to his greeting without stopping her work. Instead of sitting across the old rush bottomed kitchen chair with his arms over the back and talking about his experiences in the city, as was his custom, he
