Grace Harlowes Golden Summer | Page 4

filling the quiet moonlit night with sweetest harmony.
"It's half-past ten, children," reminded David, as striking a match he
consulted his watch. "Anne, Jessica, Reddy, and I are due to catch early
trains to-morrow morning. Anne and I mustn't miss ours. We promised
Miriam we'd surely be with her to-morrow night."
"Anne, don't forget to tell Miriam not to dare do any shopping until
Mother and I arrive in New York," reminded Grace. "She promised to
wait for me, so that we could do our shopping together. I've written her
about it, but I wish you'd emphasize the fact for me."
"I will," promised Anne. "I know she will wait for you, though. She
told me she intended to."
With knowledge of the coming parting so near, the little company grew
a trifle less merry as they strolled home across the familiar fields in the
moonlight. Though Hippy had been the only one to confess it, the
plaintive melody of Nora's song of Golden Summer haunted them.
With summer at high tide in each heart, it was, as Hippy had remarked,
not quite pleasant to be reminded even tunefully that life holds the
inevitable autumn.

"I really believe Hippy meant what he said about that song," Tom
remarked meditatively to Grace.
"Were you thinking of that, too?" A faint, almost melancholy smile
flickered about Grace's lips as she asked the question. "It seemed to me
he was in earnest."
"I almost wish Nora hadn't sung it," returned Tom with unexpected
bluntness. "I went through such a long, dreary winter before my Golden
Summer came. Now I wish it to stay with me forever. I'd like our lives
from this moment on always to be one long, continued Golden Summer
like the last two weeks. I can't bear to think that it might ever be
otherwise."
"'Perfect love casteth out fear,'" quoted Grace softly. "It's the only true
safeguard against the ills of life. After all, there's a note of triumph in
the ending of that song. With love to light us on our way, it can't help
but be always Golden Summer in our hearts."
CHAPTER II
THE HOUSE BEHIND THE WORLD
"How many letters for me, Bridget?" trilled Grace Harlowe as she
raced across the lawn to the front steps with the reckless enthusiasm of
a small boy. A glimpse of the postman's retreating back had brought
her scurrying from the garden to collect her own.
"Sure and it's a deal of mail ye be always gettin', Miss Grace,"
commented Bridget proudly, as she handed the eager-faced questioner
a small stack of letters that brought a sparkle of pleasant anticipation to
Grace's gray eyes.
"More than I deserve, I am sorry to say. I'm by no means a perfect
correspondent. Thank you, Bridget." With a bright little nod, Grace
skipped joyfully up the steps and made harbor in the big porch swing.
"I'll read them as they come," she decided, "then each one will be a
fresh surprise. Hello! Here's Miriam first of all. That means Anne

delivered my message." Hastily tearing open the envelope, Grace drew
forth a single sheet of thick white paper and read:
"DEAR GRACE:
"How I wish I could suddenly drop in on you this morning for a long
talk. There is so much I should like to tell you which I haven't time to
write. Anne, the faithful, delivered your message. Don't worry about
my not waiting for you. I won't buy even a paper of pins without your
august sanction and approval. I am anxiously looking forward to seeing
you. So are Kathleen, Anne, Arline and Mabel Ashe.
"Elfreda is with me. She is a never-failing joy, and to quote her pet
phrase, 'I can see' that there will be a vast amount of celebrating done
when you arrive. Please forgive me for not writing much this time. I am
expecting Everett and his sister at any moment. We are going to motor
down to their home on Long Island for the day. I have decided to put in
the time usefully until they have arrived. Hence this fragmentary epistle.
Kindly note my laudable promptness as a correspondent and fall in line.
With much love,
"As always,
"MIRIAM."
"I'll reply this very morning," nobly resolved Grace. "Oh!" She gave a
gleeful chuckle as she recognized a dear, familiar script. "It's from
Emma, good old friend." The chuckle continued as she perused the
flowery salutation:
"MOST GRACIOUS AND ESTIMABLE GRACE:
"Having made a triumphal return to the humble habitation of the Deans,
of whom I am which, I now derive a most excruciating pleasure in
taking up my sadly neglected pen to inform you that I am well and
hope you are the same. By this time you are no doubt mourning me as
hopelessly