Alora formed an friendship for crippled Irene Macfarlane, first based on sympathy and on genuine . That one to pass her entire life in a wicker wheel-chair should be so bright and cheerful, with no word of protest or even a reference to her own misfortune, was deemed wonderful by Alora, and she soon found that Irene had an excuse or explanation for every seeming her friends suffered and delighted to console them. At the same time she allowed no one to console her, because she declared she needed no .
Such a invited confidence, and soon Irene knew more of Alora's past history, including her trials and , than even Mary Louise had yet learned, and was shocked and grieved at the girl's vengeful of her father, due to his neglect and coldness as well as to his selfishness. But Irene had an excuse ready even for the artist.
"Poor Mr. Jones!" she said one day, when the three girls were together and had been discussing Alora's troubles; "think what a trial must have been to him to be saddled with the care of a child he had not seen since babyhood and had no especial interest in. As for affection between them, it could not nor grow because there was no understanding to it. Your father's life, my dear, had been by his separation from your mother and the money meant little to him at that period of his life when you were left to his care. But did he refuse the obligation so inconsiderately thrust upon him? No. Although a man of reserved nature—almost a recluse—self absorbed and shrinking from association others, he accepted the care of an eleven year old child and, without being able to change his disposition to suit her requirements, has guarded her health and safety ever since."
"So that he can use my money," added Alora, with a .
"But you admit that he doesn't money on himself."
"I don't know what he does with it. If he wants books, he buys them; he bought a rickety in Italy and never took me to ride in it; but his extravagance seems to end there. I've read some letters that he left around, showing that he is investing thousands in his own name—what for, I can't guess, as he is too miserly ever to have a use for it."
"Well, he may be intending to endow some deserving charity," suggested Irene. "And, as for his not loving you, Alora, I fancy you have never tried to win your father's love."
"No one could love that man."
"You have never been able to get beneath his reserve. You came to him from a life, a petted and child, and his simple tastes and unemotional nature you from the first. Is it not so?"
"I'm not sure, Irene. I needed sympathy and affection. Had my father been different, had he shown love for me, or even fatherly consideration, I would have responded eagerly. But he ignored me. There has never been any companionship between us. He has guarded my personal safety because I was of financial value to him. Once, when I contracted a fever, he was really worried, and hired a skillful doctor and a trained nurse; but he never entered my sickroom. When I was well, he reproached me for costing him so much money. I told him it was my money, and he was costing me more than I could ever cost him. I reminded him he would have been a beggar, but for my income, and that shut him up at once."
"There's the whole trouble," declared Irene. "Constant and a lack of consideration for one another. Such remarks could not have made him more gracious toward you, Alora, and you did not appreciate his care in furnishing you with the means of recovery."
"Had I died," said the girl, "my fortune would have gone to a bunch of third-cousins whom I have never seen. That would have stopped father's right to the income, you see."
Irene sighed and Mary Louise smiled. It was almost impossible to defend Mr. Jones consistently, with Alora present to accuse him.
The artist at first took little interest in his new home. The cottage was small and not very cheerful, but it was cheap, and all that Jason Jones seemed to care for was a place to stay that was not expensive. He continued his reading and had a book in his hand from morning till night. He seldom left the cottage except for a trip to the public library or to a book-store, and never to anyone unless it was necessary.
Their maid was Jane Gladys O'Donnel, and good-natured, an indifferent cook and rather untidy. She was twenty years old and the of a large and family. Her mother was a laundress—"took in washin'"—and her , with the wages of Jane Gladys, must suffice to feed many hungry mouths. That was why Mrs. Conant had hired Jane Gladys. Aunt Hannah knew the girl was not very competent, but she was cheap, so Mr. Jones accepted her without protest. Alora had lived so long abroad that she did not know what a competent American housemaid is.
One forenoon—they had now been a month at Dorfield—Mr. Jones was seated on the little front porch, reading as usual, when a queer buzzing in the air overhead aroused his attention.
"What's that?" he called sharply, and Jane Gladys, who was dusting in the little room behind him, replied:
"That, sor, is only Steve Kane's flyin' machine."
"A what?"
"A flyin'-machine, sor. Kane has a facthry fer makin' the crazy things in the town yonder—over by the South Side."
"Indeed!" He got up and went into the yard to watch the far-away in the sky that was humming so . "Why, there's another! There are two of them," he exclaimed, as if to himself.
"There might be a dozen, sor, 'cause there's a school for airy—airy—airy-flyin' over by Kane's facthry, where they teaches the folks to fly that buy the machines."
He stood a long time, watching the sky. When the last aeroplane had disappeared he resumed his reading. But the next day he watched for the machines again, abandoning his book to follow the course of the flyers.
"Where did you say that factory is located?" he asked Jane Gladys.
"Over by the gas works, sor, be the South Side. Ye takes the Ellem street car, at the four corners. On a Sunday there be crowds a-watchin' the air-divils."
He started to read again, but gave it up and glanced up and down the little porch. Jane Gladys this with surprise, for he was usually quiet and unobservant, "like th' in th' garden, what under a bush all day an' fergits he's alive till a fly lights on his nose," as she expressed it to the family at home.
After lunch Mr. Jones went to town and after making took the car to the aviation works and field. He watched the construction of flying machines in the factory and saw one or two pupils take short flights in the air. And Jason Jones was so interested that he was late to dinner that evening.
Next day he was at the aviation field again, and from that time he haunted the place, silent and composed but watching every detail of manufacture and listening to the experts as they instructed the pupils. These were not many—three altogether—although Stephen Kane's aeroplane was now admitted to be one of the safest and most reliable ever invented. And one day one of the , noticing the silent man who had watched so long, invited him to take a flight, thinking perhaps to frighten him; but Jason Jones accepted the invitation and with perfect composure endured the strange experience and returned to ground with heightened color but no other evidence of excitement. Could Alora have seen him that day she would have him of .
But Alora knew nothing of her father's odd fancy for some time after he became interested in aeroplanes. She was not often at home during the day, frequently taking lunch with Mary Louise or Irene and passing much of her time in their company. She had no interest whatever in her father's movements and Jane Gladys didn't think to mention the matter to her, for "flyin'-machines" had ceased to be a novelty in Dorfield and the sound of their buzzing through the air was heard many times a day. But in turning over a pile of her father's books one day in his absence, Alora found several on aviation and was almost startled to find that Jason Jones cared for any reading aside from light novels.
She had been hunting, at the time, for a novel to read herself, so turning from the aviation literature to a shelf of fiction she began searching for an interesting title. Presently, as she drew out one of her father's books, it opened by accident at a place where a letter had been tucked in—a letter written on soiled............