John too was asking questions and beginning now and then to wonder more
and more that what Westways discussed should never be mentioned at Grey
Pine. He rode Dixy early in the mornings with Leila at his side, fished
or swam in the afternoons, and so the days ran on. On September 30th, Ann
was to take Leila to the school in Maryland. Three days before this
terrible exile was to begin, as they turned in at the gate of the
stable-yard, Leila said, "I have only three days. I want to go and see
the Indian graves and the spring, and all the dear places I feel as if I
shall never see again."
"What nonsense, Leila. What do you mean?"
"Oh, Aunt Ann says I will be so changed in a year, I won't know myself."
"You mean, you won't see things then as they are seen now."
"Yes, that's what I wanted to say, but you always know how to find the
right words."
"Perhaps," he said. "Things never look just the same tomorrow, but they
may look--well, nicer--or--I can't always find the right word. Suppose we
walk to the graves after lunch and have a good talk." It was so agreed.
They were never quite free from the chance of being sent on errands, and
as Aunt Ann showed signs they well knew, they slipped away quietly and
were gone before the ever-busy lady had ready a basket of contributions
to the comfort of a sick woman in the village.
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