Who could be mowing the west lawn in the heat
of the day? Desire, forgetting about the enchantment, leaned out to
see. Surely it couldn't be? And yet it certainly was. The lawn-mower
man displayed the heated countenance of the bridegroom him-self.
"What is he thinking of?" groaned Desire. "He will make himself a
rag--a perfect rag. I wonder Aunt Caroline allows it."
But Aunt Caroline was presumably occupied elsewhere. No one came to
prevent the ragmaking of the professor, and Desire, after watching
for a moment, raised her finger and gave the little searching call
which had been their way of finding each other in the woods at
Friendly Bay.
The professor stopped instantly, leaving the lawn-mower exactly
where it was, in the middle of a swath. With an answering wave he
crossed to the west room window and, with an ease which surprised
his audience, drew his long slimness up the pillar of the porch and
clambered over the railing into the small balcony.
"I can't come in by the front door," he explained, "on account of my
boots. And I can't come in by the back door on account of Extra
Help. I intended getting in eventually by the cellarway, but, if you
want me, that would take too long. Besides, I wanted to show you how
neatly I can shin up a post."
He smiled at her cheerfully. He was damp and flushed, but much
brisker than Desire had thought. He did not look at all raglike. For
the first time since their homecoming she seemed to see him with
clear eyes.
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