With the
disappointment came the taunting memory of her words to Grandma
Wentworth: "Honesty is best. A dozen words would do it."
That evening when her father clumsily tried to make amends Nan said
carelessly:
"Never mind, Dad. I _am_ in love--with a little boy and his pet hen."
But she had the grace to blush. And that night as she slipped the
picture under her pillow she said a little defiantly:
"Well--what of it? All is fair in love and war."
CHAPTER XIII
AUTUMN IN GREEN VALLEY
Joe Baldwin was standing in front of his little shop. He was
bareheaded and that meant that he was worried. For it was only in
moments of mental distress that Joe laid aside the black cap that gave
him the look of a dashing driver of the Twentieth Century Limited.
In the autumn dusk a chilly little wind played about the street corners
and wailed softly through the thinning tree-tops. The big lamp above
Joe's workbench was unlighted so the little shop was in darkness except
for the fitful wavering of the ruddy wood fire in the big stove.
The streets were empty and quiet. It was an hour after supper and
Green Valley was indoors sitting about its first fires and talking of
the coming winter; remembering cold spells of other years; thanking its
stars that the coal bin was full and wondering whether it hadn't better
put on its heaviest underwear.
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