Out of McAlpin's sight, the girl went more slowly, while she sought to
arrange her mode of attack. If her host were what he once was, he would
make everything easy after she recalled herself to him. As for the
mother, Priscilla had only a dim memory of her, but something told her
that the call would be a happy and memorable one after the first moment.
A bit of tune cheered the girl; a repeating of the Road Song helped even
more, for it resurrected most vividly the young fellow who had introduced
music and happiness into her life.
"I'll be doshed!" she cried. The word had not passed her lips for years;
it brought a laugh and a complete restoration of poise. So she reached
the house. Smoke was issuing from the chimney. A fire had been made even
on this hot day, but like enough it was to dry the place after the years
of closed doors and windows. Evidently it was a many-houred fire, for the
plume of smoke was faint and steady. The broad door was set wide but the
windows were still boarded up at the front of the house, though the side
ones had escaped that protection.
Priscilla knocked and waited.
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