Free CRIMSON MOUNTAIN by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

sympathetic and understanding. She played games with me and helped dress my dolls and was better than another child for company. All my early memories are so closely associated with her. And with my father, too, when he was at home from business. We used to take trips together. Sometimes they were business trips for Dad, but he always found time between to go about with us some when we went along with him on a trip, and so I grew up as their close companion. We went to church together; we took journey together; and we talked over everything together. My older brother was away at college when I was growing up through high school days, and then, later, he was killed in an air crash, and I was the only child left.
    “It was two years after that that Mother died of pneumonia. She had never been very strong. And after that Daddy was broken. His heart played out. And then when he knew his business was involved, he went to work harder than ever, trying to save things. He was so worried that I might be left penniless. And he did manage to save some of the business. I am not entirely penniless, only just almost. But I didn’t care about that. If only Daddy could have stayed with me. He went very suddenly at the last. Perhaps it was the way he would have chosen if he had had his choice. But—it was very hard for me, of course.”
    Laurel’s voice caught with a soft little sound like a sob, and the tears were raining down her face, though Pilgrim could only see them as now and then a car passed and the headlights made them glisten like jewel flashes on her cheeks.
    “But—excuse me! I shouldn’t be weeping,” she said suddenly. “My father taught me to be brave. He didn’t want me to grow up a sob sister, he said,” and she dashed the tears away.
    “You poor little girl!” said Pilgrim, his hand going out to close over hers again with a quick warm clasp, which she returned and murmured a fluttery little “Thank you!”
    “Now,” she said, “that’s about all. I’ve been staying with some distant cousins in the city since I graduated from college, but I wanted to be on my own, and so when I heard of this job at the Carrollton school, I hustled after it. I ought to be very thankful I got it so easily. But more thankful that you saved my life and gave me a good friend to take care of me until I got my bearings. I’m sorry you have to go away so soon. I have a notion you and I could be pretty good friends if you could stay around.”
    “Thank you,” said Pilgrim with a sudden pang at his heart. “That is good of you. I only wish I could stay. But perhaps there will be furloughs or something occasionally. If you will let me see you a few minutes sometimes, I’ll be grateful.”
    And so quite happily they began to talk of the future and to discuss the war, which was beginning to seem so real to them right in the near future.
    As the distant lights of the city, which was their present destination, began to show ahead, and it became apparent that their drive was almost over for that night, they began to talk of the next day.
    “What time do you have to go back?” asked Laurel suddenly. “That Mr. Banfield said he wanted to see you not later than ten in the morning. That would mean you must start back about eight or a little earlier, wouldn’t it?”
    “No, I think not. I shall go and see the lawyer first, as soon as I can get in touch with him—tonight if possible. And then either tonight or early in the morning I’ll be telephoning Mr. Banfield,” said Pilgrim. “And you? I suppose you will go back tomorrow night, or Sunday? What are your plans? I’d like to see you once more before I leave this part of the world if possible, perhaps at Carrollton for a few minutes. I want to be sure you have suffered no ill consequences from your excitement today.”
    “Oh, don’t be silly,” Laurel said, laughing. “I’m not a lily. The excitement won’t hurt me in the least. But certainly I want to see you again as