THE HONOR GIRL by Grace Livingston Hill Read Free Book Online Page A

helpers to cleaning out the back kitchen and making the back door more presentable while she went up to Jack’s room. Somehow the making of that bed and the straightening of the old bureau and chest of drawers there gave her more pleasure than what she had done on the other rooms, for Jack would always seem a child to her because he was nearer her own age.
    She felt a trifle unhappy about making up the bed there on the floor, it looked so unfinished; but a swift survey of the old headboard and footboard showed her several reasons why Jack had abandoned them, for one leg was broken, and the main panel of the headboard was cracked from end to end. She returned to the low bed and made it as pretty as possible, with two plump white pillows at the head and the rosy eider-down quilt rolled artistically at the foot. She arranged the bureau-scarf, the prettiest one of all, and ran down to her room to bring up a little photograph of their mother framed in a silver frame, to set in front of the mirror.
    After all, she looked around with dissatisfaction when it was finished. There was so much more that needed doing. There were no curtains whatever at the windows, no good cheer anywhere. But she had done her best for the present, and the woman was calling from below to say she had finished the back kitchen and must go home and get supper for her husband.
    Elsie hurried down and paid her, taking a peep into the oven after they were gone. More savory odors floated out and filled the room invitingly. It was time to put in the potatoes and start the corn and beans to cooking. There was thickening to mix for the gravy, too; for she must have everything ready, and not be hindered at the last minute. It might be possible they would come home earlier than she expected, and she did not want to be in evidence when they arrived. This thought sent her flying to lock the front door and place the key under the mat as she had found it. They would be delayed for a minute to unlock the door, and she would have opportunity to slip unseen out of the back door and get away in case they came before she left.
    She hurried in at the back door again. It was a quarter to six, and there was no time to waste. She cut the bread; got a plate of butter and a pitcher of fresh water; poured what milk was left into a pitcher; set out the pies to cool, putting one on the sideboard with three pie-plates beside it; took up the roast on its platter and set it in the warming-oven; made a beautiful bowl of rich brown gravy; and hurried upstairs to change her dress and obliterate all traces of her presence. Then with an anxious glance out the window she stole quickly downstairs again, hung her hat and hand-bag on a hook in the back kitchen, left the doors unlatched conveniently for sudden flight, made the coffee, and took up her watch at the hall window where she could command both the front and side streets.
    It was ten minutes after six. She could hear the trolley car coming in the distance. Her father might come on that, perhaps, and she ought to take the return one which would come down toward the city in another five minutes. She held her breath and watched anxiously. Somehow, now that her work was completed, she longed to stay and see its effect; but something half like shame withheld her. And, besides, she was by no means sure of her attitude toward her father and brothers. She had done this today for them, but was not prepared to have more obligations placed upon her. She wanted to think out the situation before she saw them again. She was not sure she wanted to see them at all, to have them know that she had done this.
    She glanced swiftly back around the pretty table, across the tidy hall, into the shadowy depths of the living-room. It was still lonely and desolate, but nothing like what it had been when she came. She sniffed the luscious pie on the sideboard, thought of the white, warm beds upstairs, and was glad she had come. Then she looked back to her window, and