“You boys needn’t think that I don’t know what I am talking about. I do. When I came back from France there was something wrong. I was afraid of everything. I lived for months in dread of my shadow. It was awful. Nothing can be worse. Then, one night I came to see that God’s greatest gift to man is--strength to endure.”
He flung it at them--and their wide eyes answered him. After a moment Arthur said, huskily, “Gee, that’s great.”
Sandy sighed heavily. “I saw a picture the other day of a boy who wanted to play baseball, and he had to hold the baby. I reckon that’s what you mean. Most of us have to hold the baby when we want to play baseball.”
The others laughed, then young Arthur said, “It looks to me as if life is just one darned thing after another.”
“Not quite that.” Evans stood up. “I’m afraid I’m an awful preacher,” he apologized, “but you will ask questions.”
“Most grown-ups don’t answer them,” said Arthur, earnestly; “they just say, ‘Be good and let who will be clever.’”
“They’d better say ‘Be strong.’” Evans was reeling in his line. “We must be getting towards home. Do you see those shadows? We’ll be late----”
He stopped suddenly. There had been the crack of a twig and he had turned his eyes towards the sound. And there, poised above him, her eyes lighted up, her hands held out to him, her hat off, the warm wind blowing her bobbed black hair, blowing, too, the folds of the lilac frock back from her slender figure, stood Jane ... _Jane_....
He went charging up the bank towards her.
That was all. But he was there, holding her hands, devouring her with his eyes.
Then he dropped her hands. “I thought you were a ghost,” he said, a little awkwardly. “I called you up this morning and Sophy said you were in town.”
“I came out at noon. The day was so perfect. I had to see the Glen.”
“It is perfect. When I found you were out, I got the boys. I am taking a half-holiday after my trip.”
He was talking naturally now, smiling up at her as she stood above him. She found herself trembling, almost afraid to speak again lest her voice betray her. She had been more shaken than he by the encounter. She wondered at his ease.
She was to wonder more, as he walked home with her. The presence of the boys barred, of course, personalities. But Evans’ clear eyes met hers without a shadow of self-consciousness. He asked her about her journey, about Judy, about the babies, about Bob. The only subject on which he did not touch was her marriage with Frederick Towne.