"Yes, it will." Miss Ri was decided. "Of course it must be. Why in the world should you wait? You will stop teaching after this year, anyway, for then you will have the farm to depend upon, while as for Berk, he is out of the woods, I know that; his mother told me so. By the way, Berk, how glad your mother will be. She fell in love with Linda at first sight. Oh, she told me a thing or two, and that's why I knew Bertie Bryan was—"
"But she wasn't, you remember," interposed Linda. "She thought so."
"It amounts to the same thing. Well, I shall have to adopt somebody. Never shall I be happy alone again, now that I know what it is to have a young thing about. I believe I will send for Jeffreys, he is mighty forlorn, and he needs coddling."
"He wouldn't come," said Berkley triumphantly.
"You mean you don't want him to; you look much better when he isn't here to give the contrast," retorted Miss Ri. "I don't want him myself, to tell the truth. See here, children, why can't you both come here and live with me till I can find an orphan who wants an Aunt Ri? I'm speaking for myself, for how I am to endure anyone's cooking after Phebe's is more than I can tell, and think of me rattling around in this big house like a dried pea in a pod. I should think you would be sorry enough for me to be ready to do anything."
Miss Ri was so very unlike a dried pea that the two laughed. "We'll talk about it some day," said Berkley, "but just now—"
"HER GAZE FELL ON THE TWO."
"All you want is to be happy. Well," Miss Ri sighed, but immediately brightened. "Go along," she cried, "I never get mad with fools, you remember, and, as I have frequently told Verlinda, I am still thanking the Lord that I have escaped. Go along with you. My brain has about as much as it can stand."
The two stepped out upon the porch, but Miss Ri bustled after them. "Here, take this shawl, Verlinda; it is growing damp. Don't stay out too late. You'll stay to supper, Berk, of course."