"Uncle Forrie! Uncle Forrie!" cried Boy, swarming upon him. "I'm awful glad you're home."
"Now, then," said the lawyer after dinner, "I think our little mister here ought to crawl into bed.... Well, one more romp, then bye-bye. Eh?"
"One more romp!" screamed the child.
His mother carried him away half an hour later, and when she went to Andy's room, she found Young there talking to the dwarf.
"I've such a lot to tell you two," said he. "Now we're all comfy, I'll begin."
"Will it please Andy?" asked Tess.
Deforrest shook his head.
"I'm afraid not!... Bennet won't have to stay long in prison and he still insists he didn't do the shooting and that Andy did."
The latter groaned, and a shadow fell over Tessibel's face.
"I wish something could be done," said she.
The lawyer considered the end of his cigar.
"Well, I can't think of anything right now," he sighed.... "I suppose you've heard Lysander Letts is out of prison?"
Young asked the question as though it amounted to little, but he knew by the sharp cry from the girl and the upward lift of the dwarf's head that they both dreaded Sandy's return to Ithaca.
"But I don't want you to worry. I'll send him back if he comes around here."
Tess shook her head despondently.
"Oh, I hope he'll let me alone!"
"I'll see that he does," said the professor, rising and straightening up. "Well, I'm going down to write some letters. Cheer up, Andy! Maybe something'll turn up."
"Kid," began Andy, when the lawyer had gone. "I been thinking, we don't have to worry 'bout Sandy Letts. Ye know the lots of times when we didn't have Boy's Uncle Forrie to do things for us, how we prayed for a helpin' hand and got it?"
"Yes, Andy dear," Tess answered, thoughtfully.
"Then let's do it now. Let's get busy prayin' so Sandy can't hurt ye an'
I get out of my pickle.... Huh?"
CHAPTER XXXIX
FATHER AND SON
After an absence from his native city of three years and a half, Frederick Graves was returning to Ithaca, a very sick man. He had learned from Helen's letters to Madelene that Tessibel Skinner had a small son. His brother-in-law's exasperation at Young for giving the squatter girl and her little son a home at the lake had also been reflected in the correspondence. He had been able to glean but the bare outlines of the story, because Ebenezer and Helen had been abroad most of the time, and his impatient spirit chafed to know the intimate particulars of Tessibel's life. Jealousy of Young tormented him.
Hopeless brooding over his situation, and Madelene's continual nagging had made him a neurasthenic wreck. Worn by insomnia and almost starved by a nervous dyspepsia, he could no longer maintain even a pretense of usefulness in the business. Madelene, thoroughly disillusioned, herself worn out by his sullen and savage temper, had brought him back to Ithaca, hoping the familiar sights and sounds of the home-land might help him.
They arrived one rainy night at the station, where Ebenezer met them with the carriage. He greeted both effusively, and his manner perhaps was more cordial because of his brother-in-law's death-stricken face.
"You'll buck up now you're home, Fred," he said, after he had kissed his sister and helped them into the carriage.
"Maybe, but I doubt it," the invalid replied wearily.
"Nonsense, Fred," his wife broke out. "You make me tired. You're always whining. Of course, you're going to get well."
Too fatigued to argue, Frederick leaned back upon the cushions. Except for an occasional word, they were silent during the long drive through the rain.
Home at last, they found Helen waiting in the great hall. To Madelene, who preceded the men into the house, she looked much older, more dignified. Lines of worry around her eyes and mouth told the girl that her sister-in-law's life with Ebenezer had not been entirely easy.
After kissing Madelene, Helen extended her hand to Frederick.
"I hope you'll be better soon, Fred," she encouraged. "Our country fare'll put some flesh on your bones.... You look after the invalid, Ebenezer, and I'll take Madelene upstairs."
The two women walked upstairs together. Waldstricker gazed after them, pride and joy in his eyes. His wife and his sister reunited brought him a feeling of content. Frederick, fussing with his coat and rubbers, seemed hardly aware of their going.
"I'm glad to have you back, Fred," began Waldstricker, anxious to express the gratification he felt.
"We're glad to get back, of course," Frederick responded coldly. He followed the elder into the library and threw himself on a lounge to rest until dinner.
In the room above, Helen helped Madelene off with her things and listened to her chatter about the journey. She could detect a sullen dissatisfaction with Frederick running like a dark thread through the current of her talk. It was clear to Helen that Madelene had lost her regard for her husband. Apparently, she cared so little that she didn't feel it necessary to hide or explain her feelings.
"And, now I want to see little Elsie," gushed Madelene. "I've been crazy to see her ever since she was born."
"She's such a darling," smiled Helen, "and is the very joy of her father's heart.... Come on in the nursery."
For a few seconds Madelene leaned over the sleeping child, a rosy child with thick blonde curls. A keen sense of the emptiness of her own arms stirred in her an envy of the complacent young matron standing at the foot of the little white bed. Perhaps Fred would've been different if they'd had a little one.
"I'd love to have a baby," she breathed discontentedly. "But--"
During the significant pause, Helen linked her arm through the speaker's.
"Let's go down to dinner," she suggested. "You must be famished after your long ride."
At the table, the conversation touched many matters relating to the happenings in the lives of the long separated families. Madelene plied her knife and fork industriously, and jumped from topic to topic, expressing a lively interest in all the events in Ithaca.
"And your brother, dear?" she asked her hostess. "Is he still at the lake place?"
Helen threw a quick glance at her husband, whose lips sank at the corners, his face coloring to a deep red.
When his sister asked the question, the glass from which the elder had been drinking struck the table sharply, as though he wished to emphasize his displeasure.
"Yes, he lives there," he broke in. "In your father's old place, Fred.
His lease is not up for almost a year."