"Where is Mrs. Purdy?" Nance asked.
"Her's making me a gingerbread man."
"I know a story about a gingerbread man; want to hear it?"
"Is it scareful?" asked Ted.
"No, just funny," Nance assured. Then while he sat very still on the gate
post, with round eyes full of wonder, Nance stood in front of him with
his chubby fists in her hands and told him one of Mr. Demry's old fairy
tales. So absorbed were they both that neither of them heard an
approaching step until it was quite near.
"Daddy!" cried Ted, in sudden rapture, scrambling down from the post and
hurling himself against the new-comer.
But for once his daddy's first greeting was not for him. Dan seized
Nance's outstretched hand and studied her face with hungry,
inquiring eyes.
"I've come to say good-by, Dan," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
His face hardened.
"Then you are going with the Clarkes? You've decided?"
"I've decided. Can't we go over to the summer-house for a few minutes. I
want to talk to you."
They crossed the yard to the sheltered bower in its cluster of bare
trees, while Ted trudged behind them kicking up clouds of dead leaves
with his small square-toed boots.
"You run in to Mother Purdy, Teddykins," said Dan, but Nance caught the
child's hand.
"Better keep him here," she said with an unsteady laugh. "I got to get
something off my chest once and for all; then I'll skidoo."
But Ted had already spied a squirrel and gone in pursuit, and Nance's
eyes followed him absently.
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