be different? Under the circumstances
it would be very strange if they were not. And where does the _his_ and
_her_ come in? Barbara, child, I think you are 'dreaming pussy
willows,' as you used to say you did in springtime, when you were a
very little girl."

* * * * *

The boys were having their supper in the hall when I arrived home, for,
warm as the days are, it grows cool toward night until we are past
middle May.

The scraped knees were still knobby with bandages, but the lads were in
good spirits, and seemed to have some secret with Martha that involved a
deal of whispering and some chuckling. After the traces of bread and
butter were all wiped away, they came hobbling up (for the poor knees
were sadly stiff and lame), and wedged themselves, one on each side of
me, in the window seat of the den, where I was watching for the smoke of
Evan's train, my signal for going down the road. Ah, how I always miss
the sight of the curling smoke and the little confidential walk in the
dark winter days!

There was some mystery afoot, I could see, for Martha hovered about the
fireplace, asking if a few sticks wouldn't temper the night air, to which
I readily assented, yet still she did not go, and the boys kept the hands
close against their blouse fronts.

Suddenly Ian threw his arms about my neck and bent my head close to his,
saying, in his abrupt voice of command, "Barbara must not stay indoors
tomorrow and be sad and mend the moles' stockings."

"Yes, Barbara must," I answered firmly, feeling, yet much dreading, the
necessity of the coming collision.

"No, she can't," said Ian, trying to look stern, but breaking into little
twinkling smiles at the mouth corners. "She can't, because the moles'
stockings haven't any more got holes!" and he pulled something from his
blouse and spread it in my lap, Richard doing likewise.

There were two stockings mended, fearfully and wonderfully, to be sure,
and quite unwearable, but still legally mended.

"I don't understand," I said, while the boys, seeing my puzzled
expression, clapped their hands and hopped painfully about as well as
they were able.

Then Martha Corkle emerged from the background and explained: "The boys
they felt most terrible in their minds, Mrs. Evan, soon after you'd went
(their sore knees, I think, also keepin' them in sight of their doings),
and they begged me, Mrs. Evan, wouldn't I mend the stockings, which I
would most