Sisters

  CHAPTER XXVI. A RUSTIC CABIN

  It was just before sunset when the two boys reached the cabin on thecliff close to the high hedge which separated the farm from the rest ofthe estate. It was a rustic affair with wide verandas on three sides.From the long front windows there was an unobstructed view of the coastline circling toward the Rincon Mountain which extended peninsula-wiseout into the ocean.

  Sing Long opened the front door and beamed at them. He greeted Harold andhis friend, saying good naturedly, "Me showee. Alle done." He led the wayat once upstairs. A very large bedroom was most comfortably furnishedwith severe simplicity. The Chinaman opened a closet door and showedHarold his clothes hanging there.

  "Great!" the boy was indeed pleased to find that he was being so wellcared for. "You may sleep up at the big house, just as you have beendoing, Sing," Harold told him, "but be back to prepare our breakfast byfive tomorrow morning."

  The Chinaman grinned, showing spaces between yellowed teeth. "Bellyearly, him. Fibe 'clock." It was quite evident that he was recallingformer days when it had been hard to awaken his young master at a muchlater hour.

  Harold laughed. "Oh, times have changed, Sing. No more late sleeping forme. Tomorrow I'm going to begin to be a farmer."

  They could hear the Chinaman chuckling as though greatly amused until hewas out of the cabin. Harold at once became the thoughtful host. "I'llbudge my things along and make room for yours in the closet," he said."We'll have your trunk brought over from The Commercial tomorrow." Then,going to the window, he stood, hands thrust in pockets, looking out atthe surf plunging against the rocks. For some moments he was deep inthought. Silently Charles unpacked the few things he had with him. Haroldturned as the twilight crept into the room. "Dear old Dad loved thisplace," he said, which showed of what he had been thinking.

  "Even after he and Mother were married, when there was a crowd of gayfolk up at the big house, one of Mother's week-ends, Dad would come hereand stay with his books for company most of the time. I suppose theguests thought him queer. I'm inclined to think that at first Mother didnot understand, for she has often told me how deeply she regrets that shehad persuaded him to give up coming down here. She wishes that insteadshe had given up the house parties. Oh, well, there's a lot to regret inthis old world." Charles, knowing nothing of his new friend'sself-reproach because of having neglected his adopted sister, wondered ata remark so unlike the enthusiastic conversation of the earlier evening.The truth was that Harold was saddened by this first visit to hisfather's cabin. Suddenly he clapped a friendly hand on the older lad'sshoulder and said, "But come, the prize room is downstairs. I don'twonder Dad liked to be in it more than in any room over at the big house.I used to visit him when I was a little shaver, but the place has beenlocked since his death. I was ten when Dad died."

  They had descended a circling open stairway which led directly into thelarge room, a fleeting glance at which Charles had had on their entering.

  It was indeed an ideal den for a man who loved to read. A great stonefireplace was at one end with bookcases ceiling high, on either side.

  There were Indian rugs on the floor, low wall lamps that hung overcomfortable wicker chairs with basket-like magazine holders at the side.A wide divan in front of the blazing fire on the hearth invited Charles,and he threw himself full length, his hands clasped under his head."Harold, this is great," he exclaimed. "I've been in such a mad rushthese last days getting the finals over, packing and traveling down here,that it seems mighty good to stretch out and let go for awhile."

  "Do you smoke?" Harold asked. "If you want to, go ahead. I never learned.Dad was much opposed to smoking and even though I was so young I promisedI wouldn't, at least not until I was twenty-one." Then, after a moment ofthought, the younger lad concluded: "In memory of Dad, I shall neverbegin."

  "Glad to hear it, old man! If a chap doesn't start a bad habit, he won'thave to struggle to break it when it begins to pull down his health. Imuch prefer to breathe fresh air myself." Charles changed the subject."What's this about getting up at five o'clock to start in being a farmer?Don't tell me, though, if you'd rather not."

  "Oh, there's no secret to it. Sort of thought I'd like to learn how torun a farm since I am to own one."

  "Surely! But I didn't know you were to inherit a farm. Where's itlocated?"

  It was evident that Charles did not know that the Rocky Point farmbelonged to Harold's mother and the boy hesitated to tell, not knowingbut that the older lad would think less of the Warners and Jenny if heknew that they were what Gwyn called his "mother's servants." A secondthought assured him that this would be very unlikely.

  Simply Harold said, "Silas Warner is my mother's overseer."

  "Oho, I understand. You're lucky to have such a splendid man to lookafter your interests." Then, "I like ranching mighty well. Dad suggestedthat I take up law, thought I might need it later, when--" Charles neverfinished that sentence, and, if Harold thought it queer, he made nocomment.

  They talked of college, of ambitions and plans for the future, until bedtime. For the first time in his life Charles was lulled to sleep by therhythmic breaking of the waves as the tide went out.