# The House in the Hedge/Chapter 19

pp. 242–251.

### XIX
#### MY STORY ENDS

I didn't sleep very much that night, and for the first time I learned how it was possible to be happy and miserable at the same moment. I awoke in the morning wondering vaguely what the matter was. And then, when I remembered everything, and about the operation, too, I had to cry a little. At breakfast, Aunt Myra noticed my red eyes and wanted to know what the trouble was. And I would have cried again, right then and there into my egg, if Jocelyn hadn't come to the rescue. She was perfectly sweet. Larry and Ned had postponed their departure until the next morning, and, of course, Jocelyn was going to remain another week. She challenged Ned to golf, and Larry said that he and I would take them over in the car and then go for a ride. I wanted to stay at home, but Larry wouldn't let me. So at half-past nine we started out. As we passed the House in the Hedge everything looked just as usual, and there was Fairfax crouched on the brick walk, glaring at the sparrows. I had to gulp pretty hard to keep the tears back, and Larry squeezed my hand tight and Jocelyn talked as fast as she knew how. It seemed awful to be going away and leaving him there, with nobody near that cared—except Mr. Tully! But I knew that Larry was right and that I could do no good by just staying at home and waiting.
We dropped Jocelyn and Ned at the club and then went over to the shore road and along through Manchester and Magnolia. It was a perfectly glorious morning, but I didn't think much about weather, I can tell you. It was a few minutes before ten when we passed the clock on the church tower at Manchester and I cuddled up to Larry then, and held pretty tight all the way to Gloucester. I don't think either of us said anything. I just sat there and thought and thought, and prayed hard. And Larry let me cry all I wanted to, which was very nice of him, for he hates tears. When we got to Gloucester, I asked:
“Don't you suppose it's over by now, Larry?”
He looked at his watch and it was almost half-past ten.
“Must be,” he said. “We'll turn around and go back, slowly, by Essex.”
“The quickest way, please, Larry,” I begged. But Larry shook his head.
“Let's give them until eleven, sis,” he said. “It'll take a while for him to come out of the ether.”
So we turned toward home, but I thought we never would get there. When we did, there were two station carriages outside the House in the Hedge and I seized Larry's arm.
“They haven't gone,” I whispered. “Oh, Larry, do you suppose——”
“I'll go right back and find out, sis,” he said soothingly, as we passed the gate. “It's probably taken them a little longer than we thought it would. You run upstairs and bathe those eyes of yours, old girl. I'll bring good news inside of five minutes.”
When we reached the house I did as he said, and after that I went to the window and looked across at the House in the Hedge. The white curtains at Reed's window were fluttering in the breeze just as though nothing terrible was happening there. Then I went down to the porch and waited. But I couldn't sit still, and so, as Larry didn't come and didn't come, I started down the drive. The five minutes grew to ten, and it seemed as though an hour had passed. Then Larry came into sight and I tried to call to him and couldn't. But he saw me and waved his hat.
“It's all right!” he cried.
After that I don't know just what did happen for a while, but Larry declares that I just settled right down on a bed of geraniums. All I know is that when I opened my eyes, I was in the library and Aunt Myra was bathing my head with cologne and Larry was holding lavender salts to my nose.
“That's the girl,” said Larry, grinning down at me. “Just stay where you are a while and you'll be all right.”
“Larry,” I whispered, “is—is——”
“You bet he is! Everything's fine and dandy over there. I saw the surgeon himself. He says the operation was simply beautiful and that Reed will be out of the ether by noon. But, of course, he won't be able to see anyone for a day or so.”
“Larry Pryde!” exclaimed Aunt Myra. “What in the world are you talking about? Who's had an operation? Not that poor young man next door?”
“Right you are, auntie!”
“Well! And no one said a word to me about it! I must say——”
“We didn't want you to worry, Aunt Myra,” Larry exclaimed soothingly. Aunt Myra sniffed.
“Seems to me,” she said, looking at me suspiciously, “there's those that have worried!”
One afternoon, a week later, I was sitting beside Reed on the porch of the House in the Hedge. It was his first day out of doors since the operation. It was a wonderful day, all sunlight and blue, blue sky, and birds singing in the trees. Reed was already looking better, although he was still wrapped in bandages and flat on his back. I had just finished reading a note I had received from Larry.
“What shall I tell him?” I asked, as I tucked it into my belt.
“Tell him I'm getting along famously, thanks to excellent nursing, and that I'm as happy as a clam. And give him my love, sweetheart. That letter didn't sound very broken-hearted, did it? Do you think he's much cut-up about Miss Hare?”
“N-No—no, not terribly. But it's hard to tell about Larry. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve as his sister does, you see.”
“Poor little homeless heart!” murmured Reed.
“Oh, I meant did. It isn't there any longer.” I leaned over him. “Where is it?” I whispered.
Presently Reed chuckled.
“Just hear old Tully laugh!” he said. “Why, I never knew he could laugh as he's been doing the last week! I always said he had no sense of humor.”
“I don't think it's his sense of humor now,” I answered, after listening a moment to the sounds that came across from our porch. “It's just happiness. Why, all I just have to do to make him roar with laughter, is just hold up my finger. I almost believe he'd laugh at Political Economy now!”
“To think of the old rascal standing up and laying down the law to Mr. Hare,” said Reed. “Can you imagine it, dear?”
“No, I can't. But Jocelyn says he was simply splendid. You see, Mr. Hare started in to call him names, which was rather a mistake.”
“It proved so,” laughed Reed. “What was it Tully told him he was?”
“An Arrogant, Purse-Proud Plutocrat,” I answered, rolling the words on my tongue. “It must have been lovely.”
“Well, it was, evidently, just the treatment the old gentleman required.”
“Jocelyn says he was so flabbergasted that he just sat down in a chair and stared. And Mr. Tully just went on and waded into him. Said he considered himself quite Mr. Hare's equal in every way, and more than his equal, when it came to knowledge; that the accumulation of wealth wasn't the supreme test of ability.”
“Great!”
“And afterwards he told him that he didn't want a penny of his money and that he was able to support Jocelyn without anybody's assistance. I think that made a hit with Mr. Hare. Anyhow, in the end, Mr. Tully had the tables quite turned and Mr. Hare was begging him to be fair and take Jocelyn's money along with her. Mrs. Hare was quite sensible from the first and as soon as she found that both Jocelyn and Mr. Tully were willing to be married all over again, 'in a fitting and Christian way,' as she said, she was perfectly dear about it.”
“And when is the next wedding to take place?” asked Reed.
“In September. And you're going to be best man and I'm going to be one of the bridesmaids.”
“I can see myself!” he scoffed. “I'd look nice limping down a mile of church aisle, wouldn't I?”
“Maybe there isn't going to be any limp, dear. You know what the doctors said.”
“Hm; I'll believe that when I see it.”
“But if—if there should be a—oh, just a little teeny-weeny bit of a limp, dear, would you mind very much?”
“Not a bit! It's funny, too. I used to think that—well, that I'd a good deal rather be out of the way than have to limp the rest of my life. But now I'd be willing to hobble along on crutches, Marjorie; any old way, so long as I could keep you in sight.”
“Truly?”
“Truly. But I'll confess that I'm sort of nervous about asking your father. When does he get here?”
“At five-twenty.” I looked at my watch. “There's hours yet.”
“Well, he can't kick me,” sighed Reed, “as long as I'm on my back. That's one comfort! But it will sound cheeky, and I shouldn't blame him if he told me to go—to run away and play. Do you think he will—er—cut up much, sweetheart?
“Terribly, Reed dear!”
“Honest?”
“Why, no, you dear old goose! You don't know the Major or you wouldn't worry. He always does just as I tell him to. I'll just say 'Major, there's a young man in the House in the Hedge who wants to marry me.' And he will look surprised and say 'Bless my soul, Marjorie! What for?' And I'll say 'Because he loves me.' And then the Major will hem and haw a little and say, 'Well, I suppose if you've got it all settled, there's nothing for me to say.'”
“That sounds simple,” laughed Reed.
“It is, very. And probably he will want to know whether I—whether I care for you.”
“And if he does?”
“I'll tell him.”
“What?”
“That I love you more than anything or anybody in the whole big, wide world, and shall never love anyone else as long as I live, and that if I don't marry you, I shall just die an old maid!”
“And would all that be true, sweetheart?” he whispered.
“Don't you know?”
“Well—I'm beginning to doubt, because—you see——”
“Oh! We-ell——”
I looked around, but it was all right and there wasn't a soul within sight; nobody but just Fairfax blinking in the sunlight.
THE END