The Whiteoak Brothers. Mazo de la Roche

asked — “What is that paper, Grandmother?”

      She answered blandly — “’Tis rubbish. Throw it in the wastepaper basket.”

      Boney fluttered his wings and cried — “Iflatoon! Haram-zada!”

      “Now look here,” said Eden sternly, leading his small brother to the door. “You’re to get out and stay out. Do you hear? I’m reading aloud to Gran.”

      “But —”

      “One word more and I take that money back.” Eden thrust him into the hall and shut the door on him.

      “Now, Gran,” he said, cheerfully but masterfully, “let’s get this little job done.”

      “What job? I’m tidying my drawer.”

      He put paper before her and pen into her hand.

      “Just sign here — like a dear.”

      “Where? I don’t want to sign away anything.”

      Exasperated, he cried — “My God — you’re not signing away anything! You’re only —”

      “Don’t swear at me, young man. I won’t have it.”

      “Forgive me, Granny. But you do remember, don’t you, about the stocks you want to buy? The shares in the gold mine?”

      “Gold! Gold!” screamed Boney. “Pieces of eight!”

      “Of course I remember.” She spoke brusquely, firmly. “Give me my pen.”

      He dipped it in ink for her, showed her just where to sign. She gripped the pen-handle, made one or two false starts, then signed her name, Adeline Whiteoak, quite clearly.

      It was done.

      “Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” Eden warned. “All the family will be up on their hind legs if they hear of it. Please remember, Gran. It’s our secret, isn’t it?”

      “And I shall make a pot of money, eh?”

      “You’ll double your investment.”

      “Ha, that’s what I like to hear.”

      Meg found them tidying the drawer together, Adeline’s best cap perched on Eden’s fair head, Boney busying himself with a crust of toast.

      “And how did you get on?” cried Meg. “You do look happy.”

      “Haven’t had such a good time in months,” said Adeline.

      Boney cocked an eye from his toast. “Pieces of eight!” he screamed. “Gold! Ruddy gold! You old devil!”

VI ROOM FOR SCOPE

      Oh, to breathe freely — away from that room — away from everyone!Eden fairly flung himself along the winding path across the fields. The sandy loam was hard and dry and warm beneath his feet. Among the shining spears of stubble, glossy black crickets darted. A daddy-long-legs, having lost one of them, steered a wobbling course. The wind, cool in the shadow, hot in the sun, blew against Eden’s body, and an answering movement stirred his spirit.