are hopeful about him!" This time his laughter reached Eden's ears.
He appeared in the doorway of the cottage. The fog was really dispersing. He stood, after all this lopping of branches, in a bath of vague sunlight.
"What's the joke? You might tell it to me."
Alayne called back: "It isn't really a joke. Just something Renny finds amusing. How did you get on?"
"I've done it!"
"Done what?" asked Renny.
Alayne answered: "Finished what he was writing. Didn't you notice that he was writing?"
"Oh, yes. A poem. I suppose that's a good sign." He forced his features into a grin of approbation.
"Splendid." As they drew near to the young poet she said: "I'm so glad, Eden. Is it good?"
"I'll read it. No, I'll wait till Renny's gone. I say, what a shambles you've made of the place!"
Renny looked disappointed. "When it's been raked over it will look better. Shall I trim this Virginia creeper now?"
"No. I like a little privacy."
"But you've said a hundred times" cried Alayne.
"My good girl, never remind a person of temperament what he's said a hundred times."
"But it's dreadful to have that vine clinging round you!"
"No, it isn't. It makes me feel like a sturdy oak."
Renny examined the vine critically. "I think he's right. It would be a pity to touch it. It's always looked just like that."
"But," Alayne protested, "everything in the cottage is damp!"
The brothers agreed that the vine had nothing to do with the dampness.
A figure was approaching along the path. It was Minny Ware, in a vivid blue dress. She carried a bowl of jelly mounded with whipped cream.
"I've had such a time to find my way," she said. "It's the first time I've been in this direction by myself.
