Dawn by Eleanor Porter (best finance books of all time TXT) 📕

The two, Keith and Dorothy, had had a wonderful hour over a book that

Dorothy had brought to read. They had been sitting on the porch, and

Dorothy had risen to go when there came a light tread on the front

walk and Mazie Sanborn tripped up the porch steps.

"Well, Dorothy Parkman, is this where you were?" she cried gayly. "Iwas hunting all over the house for you half an hour ago."

"DOROTHY PARKMAN!" Keith was on his feet. His face had grown verywhite.

Dorothy, too, her eyes on Keith's face, had grown very white; yet shemanaged to give a light laugh, and her voice matched Mazie's own forgayety.

"Were you? Well, I was right here. But I'm going now."

"You! but—Miss Stewart!" Keith's colorless lips spoke the words justabove his breath.

"Why, Keith Burton, what's the matter?" laughed Mazie. "You look as ifyou'd seen a ghost. I mean—oh, forgive that word, Keith," she brokeoff in light apology. "I'm always forgetting, and talking as if youcould really SEE. But you looked so funny, and you brought out that'Dorothy Parkman' with such a surprised air. Just as if you didn'tever call her that in the old school days, Keith Burton! Oh, Dorothytold me you called her 'Miss Stewart' a lot now; but—"

"Yes, I have called her 'Miss Stewart' quite a lot lately," interposedKeith, in a voice so quietly self-controlled that even Dorothy herselfwas almost deceived. But not quite. Dorothy saw the clenched musclesand white knuckles of his hands as he gripped the chair-back beforehim; and she knew too much to expect him to offer his hand in good-bye. So she backed away, and she still spoke lightly, inconsequently,though she knew her voice was shaking, as she made her adieus.

"Well, good-bye, I must be going now, sure. I'll be over to-morrow,though, to finish the book. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," said Keith.

And Dorothy wondered if Mazie noticed that he quite omitted a polite"Come again," and if Mazie saw that as he said the terse "Good-bye" heput both hands suddenly and resolutely behind his back. Dorothy sawit, and at home, long hours later she was still crying over it.

She went early to the Burtons' the next forenoon.

"I came to finish the book I was reading to Mr. Keith," she told Susanbrightly, as her ring was answered. "I thought I'd come early beforeanybody else got here."

She would have stepped in, but Susan's ample figure still barred theway.

"Well, now, that's too bad!" Susan's voice expressed genuine concernand personal disappointment. "Ain't it a shame? Keith said he wa'n'tfeelin' nohow well this mornin', an' that he didn't want to see noone. An' under no circumstances not to let no one in to see him. Butmaybe if I told him't was you—"

"No, no, don't—don't do that!" cried the girl hurriedly. "I—I'llcome again some other time."

On the street a minute later she whispered tremulously: "He did it onpurpose, of course. He KNEW I would come this morning! But he can'tkeep it up forever! He'll HAVE to see me some time. And when he does—Oh, if only Mazie Sanborn hadn't blurted it out like that! Why didn'tI tell him? Why didn't I tell him? But I will tell him. He can't keepthis up forever."

When on a second and a third and a fourth morning, however, Dorothyhad found Susan's figure barring the way, and had received the samedistressed "He says he won't see no one, Miss Dorothy," from Susan'splainly troubled lips, Dorothy began to think Keith did mean to keepit up forever.

"But what IS it, Susan?" she faltered. "Is he sick, really sick?"

"I don't know, Miss Dorothy," frowned Susan. "But I don't like thelooks of it, anyhow. He says he ain't sick—not physicianly sick; buthe jest don't want to talk an' see folks. An' he's been like that'most a week now. An' I'm free to confess I don't like it."

"But what does he do—all day?" asked the girl.

"Nothin', that I can see," sighed Susan profoundly. "Oh, he plays thatsolitary some, an' putters a little with some of his raised books; butmostly he jest sits still an' thinks. An' I don't like it. If only hisfather was here. But with him gone peddlin' molasses, an' no one'lowed into the house, there ain't anything for him to do but tothink. An' 'tain't right nor good for him. I've watched him an' Iknow."

"But he used to see people, Susan."

"I know it. He saw everybody."

"Do you know why he won't—now?" asked the girl a little faintly.

"I hain't the faintest inception of an idea. It came as sudden asthat," declared Susan, snapping her finger.

"Then he hasn't said anything special about not wanting to see—me?"

"Why, no. He—Do you mean—HAS he found out?" demanded Susan,interrupting herself excitedly.

"Yes. He found out last Monday afternoon. Mazie ran up on to the porchand called me by name right out. Oh, Susan, it was awful. I shallnever forget the look on that boy's face as long as I live."

"Lan' sakes! MONDAY!" breathed Susan. "An' Tuesday he began refusin'to see folks. Then 'course that was it. But why won't he see otherfolks? They hain't anything to do with you."

"I don't know—unless he didn't want to tell you specially not to letme in, and so he said not to let anybody in."

"Was he awful mad?"

"It wasn't so much anger as it was grief and hurt and—oh, I can'texpress what it was. But I saw it; and I never shall forget it. Yousee, to have it blurted out to him like that without any warning—andof course he couldn't understand."

"But didn't you explain things—how 'twas, in the first place?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't—not with Mazie there. I said I'd comethe next morning to—to finish the book. I thought he'd understand Iwas going to explain then. He probably did—and that's why he won'tlet me in. He doesn't want any explanations," sighed the girltremulously.

"Well, he ought to want 'em," asserted Susan with vigor. "'Tain't fairnor right nor sensible for him to act like this, makin' a mountain outof an ant-hill. I declare, Miss Dorothy, he ought to be