Rebecca stopped by later that afternoon, chin up and smiling.
“He’s sound asleep,” she said. “Now that everything’s kind of quieted down, I don’t mind telling you something. After Billie had gone, the Judge and I talked things over and I don’t know but what I’ll have to move over there and take care of the two of them. Land knows they need it.”
“Oh, Becky, marry the Judge?” gasped Jean.
“Well, I might as well,” laughed Rebecca. “We’ve wasted thirty years now, and he’ll fret and fuss for thirty more if I don’t marry him. I’ll sell Maple Grove, or you Craigs can have it if you like, rent free.”
The last week in July saw the end of Ralph McRae’s visit at Woodhow. He had been East nearly two months and Buzzy was to go back with him. It was impossible to measure or even to estimate Buzzy’s inward joy over the decision, for there had been born in him the spirit of those who long for travel and adventure. He had listened to the distant whistle of the trains that slipped through the Quinnebaug valley, and longed to be on them going anywhere at all.
“I wish I were going too,” said Sally. “I wish all of us were going. I’d love to have a ranch out there and work it myself.”
“Oh, dear child, what strange notions you do have.” Mrs. Hancock sighed. “I never thought of such things when I was your age. I wanted to be a teacher, that was all.”
“Well, your grandfather said I was needed at home, and so I stayed on until I met your father when I was eighteen. Then I married.”
“And maybe if he’d let you be a teacher, you wouldn’t have wanted to get married. I want to study all about trees and forestry and conservation, and I want to ride over miles and miles of forests that are all mine. I’m going to, too, some day.”
“How old are you now, Sally?” asked Ralph.
“Practically sixteen. Fifteen and a half, anyway.”
“Maybe next year when I bring Buzzy home, we can coax Aunt Luella to take a trip out with you. How’s that?”
Mrs. Hancock flushed delicately, and smiled up at her tall nephew. “How you talk, Ralph. That would cost a sight of money.”
“Well, I tell you, Aunt Luella,” said Ralph, his hands deep in his pockets as he leaned back against the high mantelpiece in the living room. “I want to hand over Woodhow to you and the children. I haven’t any feeling for it like you have, and it seems to me, after talking it over with Mr. Craig, that it rightfully belongs to you. He’d like to buy it, he says, inside of two or three years. They like it over there, and plan to stay in Elmhurst, but if you want to take it over, I’m willing to transfer it before I go West.”