"The ride's done you good," Pauline said.
"I wonder what there'll be for supper," Hilary remarked. "You'll stay,
Paul?"
"If you promise to eat a good one." It was comforting to have Hilary
actually wondering what they would have.
They had reached the broad avenue of maples leading from the road up to
the house. It was a long, low, weather-stained house, breathing an
unmistakable air of generous and warm-hearted hospitality. Pauline
never came to it, without a sense of pity for the kindly elderly
couple, who were so fond of young folks, and who had none of their own.
Mrs. Boyd had seen them coming, and she came out to meet them, as they
turned into the dooryard. And an old dog, sunning himself on the
doorstep, rose with a slow wag of welcome.
"Mother's sent you something she was sure you would like to have,"
Pauline said. "Please, will you take in a visitor for a few days?" she
added, laying a hand on Hilary's.
"You've brought Hilary out to stop?" Mrs. Boyd cried delightedly. "Now
I call that mighty good of your mother. You come right 'long in, both
of you: you're sure you can't stop, too, Pauline?"
"Only to supper, thank you."
Mrs. Boyd had the big valise out from under the seat by now.
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