Lassie hugged her again. "I can't tell you how overjoyed I was to think of coming and having a whole fortnight of you to myself. Every one thought it was droll, my running off like this when I ought to be deep in preparations for my début, but mamma said that the rest and change would do me good. And I was so glad!"
Alva had gone to hang up the second cloak and now she turned, smiling her usual quiet sweet smile as she did so.
"It's a great thing for me to have you, dear; I haven't been lonely, but my life has been so happy here that I have felt selfish over keeping so much rare, sweet, unutterable joy all to myself, – I wanted to share it."
She seated herself on the side of the bed, and held out her hand in invitation, and Lassie accepted the invitation and went and perched beside her.
"Tell me all about it," she said, nestling childishly close; "how long have you been here anyway?"
"A week to-day."
"Only a week! Why, you wrote me a week ago."
"No, dear, six days ago."
"But you spoke as if you had been here ever so long then."
"Did I? It seemed to me that I had been here a long time, I suppose. Time doesn't go with me as regularly as it should, I believe. Some years are days, and the first day here was a year."
"And why are you here, Alva?"
"Oh, that's a long story."
"But tell it me, can't you?"
"Wait till to-morrow, dearest; wait until to-morrow, until you see my house."
"Your house!"
"I've bought a house here, – a dear little old Colonial dwelling hidden behind a high evergreen wall."
"A house here – in Ledge?"
"No, dear, not in Ledge – in Ledgeville. Across the bridge – "
"But when – "
"A week ago – the day I came."
"But why – "
Alva leaned her face down against the bright brown head.
"I wanted a home of my own, Lassie."
"But I thought that you couldn't leave your father and mother?"
"I can't, dear."
"Are they coming here to live?"
"No, dear."
"But I don't understand – "
"But you will to-morrow; I'll tell you everything to-morrow; I'd tell you to-night, only that I promised myself that we would go to a certain dear spot, and sit there alone in the woods while I told you."
"Why in the woods?"
"Ah, Lassie, because I love the woods; I've gotten so fond of woods, you don't know how fond; trees and grass have come to be such friends to me; I'll tell you about it all later. It's all part of the story."
"But why did you come here, Alva, – here of all places, where you don't know any one. For you don't know any one here, do you?"
"I know a man named Ronald Ingram here; he is the chief of the engineering party that is surveying for the dam."
"Is he an old friend?"
"Oh, yes, from my childhood."
Lassie turned quickly, her eyes shining:
"Alva, are you going to marry him?"
Her face was so bright and eager that something veiled the eyes of the other with tears as she answered:
"No, dear; he's nothing but a friend. I was looking for a house – a house in the wilderness – and he sent for me to come and see one here. And I came and saw it and bought it at once; I expect to see it in order in less than a fortnight."
"Then you're going to spend this winter here?"
Alva nodded. "Part of it at any rate."
"Alone?"
Alva shook her head.
Lassie's big eyes grew yet more big. "Do you mean – you don't mean – oh, what do you mean?"
She leaned forward, looking eagerly up into the other's face. "Alva, Alva, it isn't – it can't be – oh, then you are really – "
Two great tears rolled down that other woman's face. She simply bowed her head and said nothing.
Lassie stared speechless for a minute; then – "I'm so glad – so glad," she stammered, "so glad. And you'll tell me all about it to-morrow?"
"Yes, dear," Alva whispered, "I'll tell you all to-morrow. I'll be glad to tell it all to you. The truth is, Lassie, that I thought that I was strong enough to live these days alone, but I learned that I am weaker than I thought. You see how weak I am. I am weeping now, but they are tears of joy, believe me – they are tears of joy; I am the happiest and most blessed woman in the whole wide world. And yet, it is your coming that leads me to weep. I had to have some outlet, dear, some one to whom to speak. And I want to live, Lassie, and be strong, very, very strong – for God."
Lassie sat staring.
"You don't understand, do you?" Alva said to her, with the same smile with which she had put the same question to Ingram.
But Lassie did not answer the question as Ingram had answered it.
"You will teach me and I shall learn to understand," she said.
CHAPTER III
INTRODUCING LASSIE TO MRS. RAY
The next morning dawned gorgeous.
When Lassie, in her little gray kimono, stole gently in to wake her friend, she found Alva already up and dressed, standing at the window, looking out over the October beauty that spread afar before her. It was a wonderful sight, all the trees bright and yet brighter in their autumn gladness, while the grass sparkled green through the dew that had been frost an hour before. The view showed the radiance fading off into the distant blue, where bare brown fields told of the harvest garnered and the ground made ready for another spring.
Lassie pressed Alva's arm as she peeped over her shoulder, and the other turned in silence and kissed her tenderly.
Side by side they looked forth together for some minutes longer, and then Lassie whispered:
"I could hardly get to sleep last night – for thinking of it all, you know. You don't guess how interested I am. I do so want to know everything."
Alva turned to regard her with her calm smile.
"But when you did get to sleep, you slept well, didn't you?" she asked; "tell me that, first of all."
"Why, is it late? Did I sleep too awfully long? Why didn't you call me?"
"Oh, my dear, why? It's barely nine, and that isn't late at all for a girl who spent all yesterday on the train. I let you sleep on purpose. What's the use of waking up before the mail comes? And that isn't in till half-past under the most favorable circumstances; and even then it never is distributed until quarter to ten. I thought we'd get our letters after our breakfast, and then carry them across the bridge with us. Would you like to do that? I have to cross the bridge every morning."
"Cross the bridge? That means to go to your house?"
"Yes, dear."
"How nice! I'm crazy to see your house. Is it far from here to the post-office? Will that be on our way?"
"That is the post-office there – by the trees." Alva pointed to a brown, two-story, cottage-like structure three hundred yards further up the track.
"The little house with the box nailed to the gate-post?"
"It isn't such a little house, Lassie; it's quite a mansion. The lady who lives in it rents the upper part for a flat and takes boarders down-stairs."
"Does