I haven't felt under any obligation to spoil it
by raking up old stories that are best forgotten.
There are the dear old books: have they been
read since I went away?"

"No, honey, there's be'n nobody to read 'em,
excep' Rena, an' she don't take to books quite like
you did. But I've kep' 'em dusted clean, an' kep'
the moths an' the bugs out; for I hoped you'd
come back some day, an' knowed you'd like to find
'em all in their places, jus' like you left 'em."

"That's mighty nice of you, mother. You
could have done no more if you had loved them
for themselves. But where is Rena? I saw her
on the street to-day, but she didn't know me from
Adam; nor did I guess it was she until she opened
the gate and came into the yard."

"I've be'n so glad to see you that I'd fergot about
her," answered the mother. "Rena, oh, Rena!"

The girl was not far away; she had been standing
in the next room, listening intently to every
word of the conversation, and only kept from
coming in by a certain constraint that made a
brother whom she had not met for so many years
seem almost as much a stranger as if he had not
been connected with her by any tie.