weeping; after which she shouldered the cross above mentioned, which like all crosses heartily borne, lightened as the years went on. One thing was certain. Greater devotion was never displayed by a stepmother; and if Irving Bruce had mental reservations, too, he did not divulge them to the faithful woman who was part of his earliest remembrance. [27] [27] CHAPTER III IRVING BRUCE Mrs. Bruce had retired from her labors, but a vigorous cleansing process was still going on in the cottage, when a man’s footsteps again sounded on the garden-path. Some one set a suit-case down on the porch, and then appeared in the doorway for a moment of inspection. Mrs. Bruce Betsy started at sight of the tall, gray-clad apparition. “Mr. Irving!” she ejaculated, and the transfiguring expression which crossed her face gave the key at once to her loyalty. “Go ’way from here, we ain’t a bit ready for you!” she said severely. He strode forward and gently shook the speaker’s angular shoulders instead of her busy hands. “Great that I could get here so soon,” he returned, continuing to rest his hands on her shoulders, while she looked up into the eyes set generously apart under level brows. [28] [28] “He ain’t any job lot,” she thought for the hundredth time, “he’s a masterpiece.” But all the time she was trying to frown. “We ain’t ready for you,” she repeated. “The cook hasn’t come.” “Bully!” ejaculated the unwelcome one. “It’s the aim of my existence to catch you where there isn’t any cook. Are the mackerel running?” “You’ll have to ask Cap’n Salter or some other lazy coot about that. Mackerel running! Humph! My own running has been all I could attend to the last two days. Mrs. Pogram’s supposed to look after the cottage—air it and so on; but she always was slower’n molasses and I s’pose she don’t get any younger nor spryer as the years go on. I’ve found mildew, yes, I have, mildew, in a number o’ places.”
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