Whatever Christina’s anxiety had been, within three days Cathy had become part of the household, and, far from being a problem, was hardly ever visible. She disappeared into her quarters at the top of the house for hours at a time. Sometimes they heard the guitar, faint and haunting. Often she went out with Flicker, having promised not to go far into the woods alone—but Christina was aware that this promise was occasionally broken. Cornelius had given her a police whistle to wear round her neck on a string, and she was to blow it if she got lost—so even he did not take that promise too seriously, evidently. Cathy spent a lot of time at Ellen’s, but when Christina asked Ellen whether she was making herself a nuisance Ellen just smiled and said, “No, she’s a great talker and I listen and sew.” This was the more surprising because Cathy did not talk much at home, or only in short bursts when she and Christina did the dishes after supper.

She proved to be almost overanxious to help. John had apparently whispered in her ear that it would be a splendid idea if she brought breakfast up to the two old people on trays. After a rather disastrous first try at this—when the coffee was spilt, the eggs hard-boiled, and the toast cold—Christina helped her plan things the evening before, found a thermos for the coffee, set the trays—and she had to admit that it was luxury not to have to get up till an hour later than usual.

Cornelius, meanwhile, was quietly making his own plans for the granddaughter. He suggested that they read aloud every evening for a half hour after the dishes were done, and Christina was aware that he took this responsibility seriously. Sometimes he chose a passage from the Bible, sometimes it was poetry—Cathy, they discovered, hardly knew Wordsworth or Keats. Once in a while it might be a short story by Sarah Orne Jewett or Willa Cather. Cathy and Flicker lay on the bear rug by the fire, and Christina put her feet up on the sofa and felt very much at peace. Sometimes she stole a look at Cathy and rested her eyes on the purity of line of the unformed face, so vulnerable, with the hair flung back over her shoulder—no wonder she hid behind all that hair!

Occasionally Cathy said something surprising. She always kissed them both before she went upstairs to bed. Once she said, “I wish people kissed each other more. No one does at home.” And Christina sensed that Cathy was moved by the tenderness she herself showed Cornelius—moved and a little disturbed. She blushed when she came in with the breakfast trays and found them, like as not, Christina leaning against Cornelius’s shoulder as they greeted the mountain from their bed.