She held the little picture out to him, forcing her
eyes to meet his.
And those eyes of his looked down at her, first with wonder and then
with a pleased smile, and she knew that he didn't know, didn't
understand, saw nothing strange in the incident. He took her calm
explanation for the whole truth. The man had absolutely no vanity.
"Why, I don't want that," he told her wonderingly. "Are you making a
collection of children's pictures?" he asked with such innocent
curiosity that Nanny's self-control gave way and she laughed until she
cried. He stood by, helpless and puzzled. When Nanny, having gotten
to the tears, searched in vain for her handkerchief he gravely offered
his.
Nanny took it and used it and then looked up at him with eyes as full
of laughing despair as his were full of bewilderment.
"John Roger Churchill Knight--you will some day be the very death of
me."
CHAPTER XV
INDIAN SUMMER
"Well, I guess this is about the last spell of pretty weather we're
going to have," sighed Fanny Foster as she sat herself down on Grandma
Wentworth's back steps and went right to work helping Grandma sort the
herbs and bulbs and the seeds she had been gathering for a whole week.
"I'm hoping not," said Grandma, "though when the air is like warm gold
dust, and the sun's heat just mellows you through and through, and the
last bobolink calls from the hill, why, a body just knows such perfect
days can't last.
Pages:
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246