Courtney Thane chafed under the prolonged absence of Alix Crown.
Valuable time was being wasted. He had assisted at the burial of
Sergeant, and had shed tears with Mrs. Strong while Ed Stevens, the
chauffeur, was filling in the grave up back of the orchard; and he
had done further homage to the dead by planting a small American
flag at the head of the mound and,--as an afterthought,--the flag
of Belgium at the foot.
He felt that he had done very well by a dog that would have torn
him to pieces if encouraged by the merest whisper of the words "sic
'im!"
Alix returned late on Friday afternoon. He had a box of roses,
ordered from the city for him by Miss Flora Grady, awaiting her,
and with them a tender little note of sympathy.
She sat for a long time with Mrs. Strong. Her dark eyes softened
and filled with tears as David's mother gently stroked her hair
and sought by words to convince her that David would understand.
"It wasn't your fault, Alix darling," she protested. "David won't
mind,--not in the least. Sergeant didn't really mean anything to
him. He was yours more than he was David's. Don't you worry about
David's feelings, dear. He--"
"You don't understand, Aunt Nancy,--you don't understand at all,"
Alix repeated over and over again in her distress.
"You're just worrying yourself sick over it," said the older woman.
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