All the way up on the train Jean kept thinking about Daddy Higginson’s last words when he had held her hand at parting. “This isn’t my thought, Jeanie, but it’s a good one even if Nietzsche did write it. As I used to tell you in class about Pope and Socrates and all the other warped geniuses, think of a man’s physical suffering before you condemn what he has written. Carlyle might have been our best optimist if he’d only discovered pepsin tablets, and lost his dyspepsia. Here it is, and I want you to remember it, for it goes with arrows of longing. The formula for happiness: ‘A yea, a nay, a straight line, a goal.’” It sounded simple enough. Jean felt all keyed up to new endeavor from it, with a long look ahead at her goal, and patience to wait for it. She felt she could undertake anything, even the care of the house during her mother’s absence, and that was probably what lay behind the telegram. When Kit met her at the station, she gave her an odd look after she had kissed her. “Lordy, but you do look Joan of Arc-ish, Jean. You’d better not be lofty up home. Everything’s at sixes and sevens.” “I’m not a bit Joan of Arc-ish,” retorted Jean, with a flash of true Robbins spirit. “What’s the trouble?” Kit gathered up the reins from Princess’s glossy back, and started her up the hill. Mr. Briggs had somehow been evaded this time. There was a good coating of snow on the ground and the pines looked weighed down by it, all silver white in the sunshine, and green beneath. “Nothing much, except that—what on earth have you got in the bag, Jean?” Jean had forgotten all about the puppy. Piper had kept his word and met her at the train with Jiggers’ son, a sleepy, diminutive Boston bull pup all curled up comfortably in a wicker basket with little windows, and a cosy nest inside. He had started to show signs of personal interest, scratching and whining as soon as Jean had set the bag down at her feet in the carriage. “It’s for Doris. Talbot Pearson sent it up to her to remember Jiggers by.” “Jiggers?” “It’s Jiggers’ baby,” said Jean solemnly. “Looks just like him, too. His name is Piper. Won’t she love him, Kit?” “I suppose so,” said Kit somewhat ungraciously. “I haven’t room for one bit of sentiment after the last few days. You’ve been having a round of joy and you’re all rested up, but if you’d been here, well . . .” eloquently. “First of all there came a letter from Benita Ranch. Uncle Hal’s not expected to live and they’ve sent for Mother. Seems to me as if everyone sends for Mother when anything’s the matter.” “But Father isn’t going way out there too, is he?”