"No workroom really has a soul if you can't smell smoke and see red when you go to it at night.""You little outdoor heathen," laughed Peter Morrison. "One would think you were an Indian.""I am a fairly good Indian," said Linda. "I have been scouting around with my father a good many years. How about it, Peter?
Does the road go crooked?"
"Yes," said Peter, "the road goes crooked.""Does the bed of the spring curve and sweep across the lawn and drop off to the original stream below the tree-tobacco clump there?""If you say so, it does," said Peter.
"Including the bridge?" inquired Linda.
"Including the bridge," said Peter. "I'll have to burn some midnight oil, but I can visualize the bridge.""And is this house where you 'set up your rest,' as you so beautifully said the other night at dinner, going to lay its corner stone and grow to its roof a selfish house, or is it going to be generous enough for a gracious lady and a flight of little footsteps?"Peter Morrison took off his hat. He turned his face toward the length of Lilac Valley and stood, very tall and straight, looking far away before him. Presently he looked down at Linda.
"Even so," he said softly. "My shoulders are broad enough; Ihave a brain; and I am not afraid to work. If my heart is not quite big enough yet, I see very clearly how it can be made to expand.""I have been told," said Linda in a low voice, "that Mary Louise Whiting is a perfect darling."Peter looked at her from the top of her black head to the tips of her brown shoes. He could have counted the freckles bridging her nose. The sunburn on her cheeks was very visible; there was something arresting in the depth of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the lithe slenderness of her young body; she gave the effect of something smoldering inside that would leap at a breath.
"I was not thinking of Miss Whiting," he said soberly.
Henry Anderson was watching. Now he turned his back and commenced talking about plans, but in his heart he said: "So that's the lay of the land. You've got to hustle yourself, Henry, or you won't have the ghost of a show."Later, when they motored down the valley and stopped at the Strong residence, Peter refused to be monopolized by Eileen. He climbed the two flights of stairs with Henry Anderson and Linda and exhausted his fund of suggestions as to what could be done to that empty billiard room to make an attractive study of it.
Linda listened quietly to all their suggestions, and then she said:
"It would be fine to have another window, and a small skylight would be a dream, and as for the fireplace you mention, I can't even conceive how great it would be to have that; but my purse is much more limited than Peter's, and while I have my school work to do every day, my earning capacity is nearly negligible. I can only pick up a bit here and there with my brush and pencil --place cards and Easter cards and valentines, and once or twice magazine covers, and little things like that. I don't see my way clear to lumber and glass and bricks and chimney pieces."Peter looked at Henry, and Henry looked at Peter, and a male high sign, ancient as day, passed between them.
"Easiest thing in the world," said Peter. "It's as sure as shooting that when my three or four fireplaces, which Henry's present plans call for, are built, there is going to be all the material left that can be used in a light tiny fireplace such as could be built on a third floor, and when the figuring for the house is done it could very easily include the cutting of a skylight and an extra window or two here, and getting the material in with my stuff, it would cost you almost nothing."Linda's eyes opened wide and dewy with surprise and pleasure.
"Why, you two perfectly nice men!" she said. "I haven't felt as I do this minute since I lost Daddy. It's wonderful to be taken care of. It's better than cream puffs with almond flavoring."Henry Anderson looked at Linda keenly.
