"Dreadful slow day," thought Ben, and, retiring to the recesses of his own room, he read over the two letters which seemed already old to him. Now that the first shock was over, he could not make it true that his father was dead, and he gave up trying, for he was an honest boy and felt that it was foolish to pretend to be more unhappy than he really was. So he put away his letters, took the black pocket off Sanch's neck, and allowed himself to whistle softly as he packed up his possessions ready to move next day, with few regrets and many bright anticipations for the future.
"Thorny, I want you to be good to Ben and amuse him in some quiet way this afternoon. I must stay and see the Allens who are coming over, but you can go to the grove and have a pleasant time," said Miss Celia to her brother.
"Not much fun in talking to that horsey fellow. I'm sorry for him, but _I_ can't do anything to amuse him," objected Thorny, pulling himself up from the sofa with a great yawn.
"You can be very agreeable when you like, and Ben has had enough of me for this time. Tomorrow he will have his work and do very well, but we must try to help him through to-day, because he doesn't know what to do with himself. Besides, it is just the time to make a good impression on him, while grief for his father softens him and gives us a chance. I like him, and I'm sure he wants to do well; so it is our duty to help him, as there seems to be no one else."
"Here goes, then. Where is he?" and Thorny stood up, won by his sister's sweet earnestness, but very doubtful of his own success with the "horsey fellow."
"Waiting with the chair. Randa has gone on with the hammock. Be a dear boy, and I'll do as much for you some day."
"Don't see how _you_ can be a dear boy. You're the best sister that ever was, so I'll love all the scallywags you ask me to."
With a laugh and a kiss, Thorny shambled off to ascend his chariot, good-humoredly saluting his pusher, whom he found sitting on the high rail behind, with his feet on Sanch.
"Drive on, Benjamin. I don't know the way, so I can't direct. Don't spill me out,--that's all I've got to say."
"All right, sir,"--and away Ben trundled down the long walk that led through the orchard to a little grove of seven pines.