Free Pilgrim’s Rest by Patricia Wentworth

of Scots. There was the look in the eyes, the look that charmed. There was the warm and winning way. Of course, she ought to have had a ruff, and one of those entrancing little caps, or a Scots bonnet with a feather at the side. Judy found the idea so beguiling that she lost everything except Lona’s voice flowing on in a rich undertone.
    When she came to, Miss Day was saying,
    “I know he likes to have her, and I hate to deprive him of the least pleasure, but I can’t help feeling anxious. You do understand, don’t you?”
    Judy hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about, and hoped for a gleam of light. It came.
    “She is such a darling child, but I do feel perhaps it would be wiser if you could keep her out of his room.”
    “But, Miss Day, he loves having her, and honestly, I think it is doing him good.”
    “I know. But he really does have to be kept very quiet. Those stories he tells her-I’m afraid of the effect it may have on him. You see, he used to write. I’m afraid of his wanting to start doing it again.”
    “Why shouldn’t he? I should have thought it would be a very good thing.”
    Lona shook her head.
    “I’m afraid not-too exciting. That is what we have to avoid at any cost-he mustn’t get excited.”
    Judy felt a queer sort of antagonism rising in her. How could it do Jerome Pilgrim any harm to make up stories for a child of four? She thought, “They’ve all got into a regular fuss about him. I should think the most of what’s the matter with him now is being nearly bored to death. I won’t stop Penny if he wants her.”
    As if Lona Day was aware of what was passing in her mind, she smiled rather sadly and said,
    “You think it’s nonsense, don’t you? I suppose that’s natural. But we are all so fond of him, and so sorry-we have all tried so hard to help him. And of course you don’t know how much care he needs. If you were to see him in one of his attacks you would understand-but I hope you never will.”
    Judy felt as if a cold finger had touched her spine. She was being warned. She was being warned about Penny.
    As if she had spoken the name aloud, Lona said,
    “Don’t leave her alone with him, my dear.”
    Then she got up and went over to sit by Miss Janetta.
    Miss Silver came down next day, arriving in time for tea, at which she appeared in indoor dress, her hair neat under its net, her feet in beaded slippers, her knitting-bag upon her arm. She might have been in the house for weeks. Avoiding the difficult question of Christian names by the use of an occasional “My dear,” she further placated Miss Columba by addressing to her only such remarks as were in no need of an answer. For the rest, she found something to say to everyone else, and when tea was over won Miss Janetta’s heart by her interest in the current chair-cover. The interest was perfectly genuine. She could, and did, admire the pattern, the colour-scheme, the small fine stitches, the pink and blue roses on a ground of pastel grey. Very charming-very charming indeed. Really most beautiful work.
    With Miss Day she conversed upon other topics. A nurse has such an interesting life. Such opportunities for studying character. And sometimes for travel. Had Miss Day travelled at all?… Oh, in the East? How very, very interesting! China perhaps?… No? India?… How intensely interesting! Such a wonderful country.
    “I have not had the opportunity of travelling myself. The scholastic profession is, to that extent, rather limiting.”
    “Do you still teach?”
    Miss Silver gave her slight cough.
    “No, I have retired.”
    Jerome Pilgrim kept his room that afternoon. When Judy came down to supper she found her feet halting and reluctant. The farther they took her from Penny, the more clearly did Lona Day’s words come echoing back in the empty spaces of her mind-“Don’t leave her alone with him, my dear.”
    “Don’t leave her alone-” But she was leaving Penny alone, and just along at the end of the