Hewitt and the large, fatherly Maltese
cat who occupied a wonted cushion on the other side of the
fireplace. And so John found her when he came in. The lamp had just
been lighted, and its soft rays shone on Joy's bronze head and
down-bent, intent little face. She had on a little white apron that
Mrs. Hewitt had fastened around her waist, and she was sewing hard.
Before Joy heard John come in she felt him. No matter how tired he
was, there was always about John an atmosphere of well-being and
sunniness, of "all's right with the world," that made faces turn to
him instinctively when he stood in a doorway. But Joy did not raise
her eyes to look at him, nor did she move.
His mother rose and came over to greet him. Joy did not hear her
whisper: "The child feels a little shy. She'll be more at ease now
you've come."
John came swiftly over to where she sat on the floor, very still,
with her hands flying, and her eyes on her work.
"Why, Joy dear, this is a lovely thing that I didn't expect," he
said gently. "Welcome--home!"
He smiled down at her and held out his hands to help her up. Quite
unsuspectingly, she pushed her work into the pocket along the hem of
her sewing-apron and laid her hands in his, and he drew her easily
to her feet. But, instead of releasing her then, he drew her
closer--and kissed her, quite as calmly as he had his mother a
moment before.... No, not quite as calmly. Joy felt his arms close
around her, as if he was glad to have her in his hold.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164