Suddenly Linda
shot her hands past Peter's shoulders and brought them together
on the back of his neck. She drew his face against hers and
cried: "Oh Peter, I would have been killed if that coat had been
yours. I tell you I couldn't have endured it, Peter. I am just
tickled to death!"
One instant she hugged him tight. If her lips did not brush his
cheek, Peter deluded himself. Then she sprang up and ran from
the garage. Later he took the coat from its nail, the papers
from its pockets, and carefully looked them over. There was
nothing among them that would give him the slightest clue to
Linda's conduct. He looked again, penetratingly, searchingly,
for he must learn from them a reason; and no reason was apparent.
With the coat in one hand and the papers in the other he stepped
outside.
"Linda," he said, "won't you show me? Won't you tell me? What
is there about this to upset you?"
Linda closed her lips and shook her head. Once more Peter sought
in her face, in her attitude the information he craved.
"Needn't tell me," he said, "that a girl who will face the desert
and the mountains and the canyons and the sea is upset by a
mouse."
"Well, you should have seen Katy sitting in the midst of our
supper with her feet rigidly extended before her!" cried the
girl, struggling to regain her composure. "Put back that coat
and come to your supper. It's time for you to be fed now. The
last workman has gone and we'll barely have time to finish nicely
and show Katy your dream house before it's time to go.
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