The Wind in the Rose-Bush | Page 7

"Without sending you word?"
"Oh, she knew I wouldn't worry."
"When will she be home?"
"Oh, I guess she'll be along pretty soon."
Rebecca was uneasy, but she tried to conceal it, for she knew of no
good reason for uneasiness. What was there to occasion alarm in the
fact of one young girl staying overnight with another? She could not eat
much breakfast. Afterward she went out on the little piazza, although
her hostess strove furtively to stop her.
"Why don't you go out back of the house? It's real pretty--a view over
the river," she said.
"I guess I'll go out here," replied Rebecca. She had a purpose: to watch
for the absent girl.
Presently Rebecca came hustling into the house through the sitting-
room, into the kitchen where Mrs. Dent was cooking.
"That rose-bush!" she gasped.
Mrs. Dent turned and faced her.

"What of it?"
"It's a-blowing."
"What of it?"
"There isn't a mite of wind this morning."
Mrs. Dent turned with an inimitable toss of her fair head. "If you think I
can spend my time puzzling over such nonsense as--" she began, but
Rebecca interrupted her with a cry and a rush to the door.
"There she is now!" she cried. She flung the door wide open, and
curiously enough a breeze came in and her own gray hair tossed, and a
paper blew off the table to the floor with a loud rustle, but there was
nobody in sight.
"There's nobody here," Rebecca said.
She looked blankly at the other woman, who brought her rolling-pin
down on a slab of pie-crust with a thud.
"I didn't hear anybody," she said calmly.
"I SAW SOMEBODY PASS THAT WINDOW!"
"You were mistaken again."
"I KNOW I saw somebody."
"You couldn't have. Please shut that door."
Rebecca shut the door. She sat down beside the window and looked out
on the autumnal yard, with its little curve of footpath to the kitchen
door.
"What smells so strong of roses in this room?" she said presently. She
sniffed hard.

"I don't smell anything but these nutmegs."
"It is not nutmeg."
"I don't smell anything else."
"Where do you suppose Agnes is?"
"Oh, perhaps she has gone over the ferry to Porter's Falls with Addie.
She often does. Addie's got an aunt over there, and Addie's got a cousin,
a real pretty boy."
"You suppose she's gone over there?"
"Mebbe. I shouldn't wonder."
"When should she be home?"
"Oh, not before afternoon."
Rebecca waited with all the patience she could muster. She kept
reassuring herself, telling herself that it was all natural, that the other
woman could not help it, but she made up her mind that if Agnes did
not return that afternoon she should be sent for.
When it was four o'clock she started up with resolution. She had been
furtively watching the onyx clock on the sitting-room mantel; she had
timed herself. She had said that if Agnes was not home by that time she
should demand that she be sent for. She rose and stood before Mrs.
Dent, who looked up coolly from her embroidery.
"I've waited just as long as I'm going to," she said. "I've come 'way
from Michigan to see my own sister's daughter and take her home with
me. I've been here ever since yesterday--twenty-four hours--and I
haven't seen her. Now I'm going to. I want her sent for."
Mrs. Dent folded her embroidery and rose.
"Well, I don't blame you," she said. "It is high time she came home. I'll

go right over and get her myself."
Rebecca heaved a sigh of relief. She hardly knew what she had
suspected or feared, but she knew that her position had been one of
antagonism if not accusation, and she was sensible of relief.
"I wish you would," she said gratefully, and went back to her chair,
while Mrs. Dent got her shawl and her little white head-tie. "I wouldn't
trouble you, but I do feel as if I couldn't wait any longer to see her," she
remarked apologetically.
"Oh, it ain't any trouble at all," said Mrs. Dent as she went out. "I don't
blame you; you have waited long enough."
Rebecca sat at the window watching breathlessly until Mrs. Dent came
stepping through the yard alone. She ran to the door and saw, hardly
noticing it this time, that the rose-bush was again violently agitated, yet
with no wind evident elsewhere.
"Where is she?" she cried.
Mrs. Dent laughed with stiff lips as she came up the steps over the
terrace. "Girls will be girls," said she. "She's gone with Addie to
Lincoln. Addie's got an uncle who's conductor on the train, and lives
there, and he got 'em passes, and they're goin' to stay to Addie's Aunt
Margaret's a few days. Mrs.