Life was like that—if one could successfully fit all the queer edges together and build up, piece by piece, one could have the reward of the shining ball at the top. But Nancy, thinking of it now, felt the tugging impatience that she had used to feel toward the pile of colored blocks.
A few weeks had so changed her own life—she must take up the little pieces and begin to build again.
At the gate of Happy House she paused, and turning, looked down the road. In the last few days she had caught herself often looking down that road and yet she would not admit to herself—she was too proud to admit it that she was always wishing that she would see Peter Hyde coming. It was very lonesome at Happy House without him.
Suddenly, in a swirl of dust, a motor turned the corner at the smithy and approached toward her at a tremendous speed, its outline barely distinguishable because of the cloud that enveloped it. No one came up that road unless they were coming to Happy House.
Then someone, swathed in linen and green, floating veiling, spied Nancy and waved wildly from the tonneau.
Scarcely believing her eyes, Nancy took a step forward. With a swerve and a roar the car came to a stop and from the front seat, throwing off goggles and cap, sprang Eugene Leavitt.
"Daddy!" cried Nancy, throwing herself into his arms.
"I thought it was Anne, but I couldn't——"
she began, finally withdrawing from his tight clasp to greet the others. "I just—couldn't believe it."
Anne was standing now beside her, and behind Anne, unwinding yards and yards of dust-covered veiling, laughed Claire.