“That was Bobby,” smiled Mother Blossom.  “He’s seven years old now.  This is Meg, and the two youngsters are our twins, Twaddles and Dot.  We’re going to Apple Tree Island.  I have never been back since—­”

She stopped, afraid that perhaps she had recalled painful memories to Mr. Harley.  But his attractive smile slowly overspread his face again.

“That so?” he said with interest.  “I haven’t been there myself in quite a spell.  I expect the boys have grown out of sight.  I’m on my way now to see the wife and kids.”

The Blossom family remained perfectly silent.  What could they say?

CHAPTER VIII

OLD BROOKSIDE FRIENDS

“Yes,” repeated Mr. Harley comfortably.  “I don’t suppose the boys will know me.  Dick must be ten now, and Herbert’s a year older.  I calculate to stay over to-night with Joe Gates and his wife in Pomona (that’s why you folks overtook me walking along this road) and he’ll row me up to the island.”

The four little Blossoms wriggled uneasily.  Even Dot and Twaddles, young as they were, could guess something of what Mr. Harley’s sorrow would be when he learned that no wife and children waited for his coming on pretty Apple Tree Island.  Meg glanced at Mother Blossom.  That lady shook her head slightly, as a signal not to speak.

“Isn’t that a sign of spring water for sale?” said Father Blossom suddenly.  “Hand me the vacuum bottles, Margaret, please, and I’ll have them filled.  The children may be thirsty again before we get to Polly’s.  Dick, will you help me?  We’ve a bottle for each youngster and they’re slippery things to handle.”

Father Blossom stopped the car on the other side of the road from a pretty cottage where a sign on the gate offered “Guaranteed, Analyzed Spring Water for Sale,” and he and Mr. Harley disappeared with the bottles through the odd, rustic gate.

“Now he’ll tell the poor man,” sighed Mother Blossom.  “Whatever they do or say when they come back, children, I don’t want you to say a word unless you’re spoken to.  Can you remember?”

“Yes’m,” promised the four little Blossoms, four little hearts warm with sympathy for poor Mr. Harley.

“Where do you suppose he was all the time he wasn’t there?” whispered Meg.

“I don’t know,” answered her mother.  “He may have been ill.  He may not even know how long it has been since he has been home.  Anyway, darlings, the kindest thing we can do is not to bother him with talk or questions.”

Father Blossom and Mr. Harley were gone for what seemed a long time to the children, but in reality was not more than twenty minutes.  The four little Blossoms saw them coming, Father Blossom in the lead.  Such a change had come over Mr. Harley!  His shoulders sagged, he scuffed his feet and his eyes were heavy and dull.

“I suppose you know?” he said wearily to Mother Blossom, as he climbed into the car and Father Blossom took the wheel.  “If I only knew where she went!  But she quarreled with her people when she married me, and I never rightly knew where they lived, or who they were.”