Sloane drove
them before her. "The hen-house roof fell in, an' I have to keep 'em
in here," she said, and shooed them and shook her shawl at them,
until they alighted all croaking with terror upon the bed in the
corner.
Then she looked inquiringly around the room. "Why," she cried, "she's
gone; she was settin' here in this rockin'-chair when I went out. She
must have run when she see you comin'!"
Mrs. Sloane hustled through a door, the tattered fringes of her shawl
flying, and then her voice, shrilly expostulating, was heard in the
next room.
The two men waited, standing side by side near the door in a shamed
silence. They did not look at each other.
Presently Mrs. Sloane returned without her shawl. Her old cotton gown
showed tattered and patched, and there were glimpses of her sharp
white elbows at the sleeves. "She won't come out a step," she
announced. "I can't make her. She's takin' on terribly."
William made a stride forward. "I'll go in and see her," he said,
hoarsely; but Mrs. Jim Sloane stood suddenly in his way, her slender
back against the door.
"No, you ain't goin' in," said she, "I told her I wouldn't let you go
in."
William looked at her.
"She's dreadful set against either one of you comin' in, an' I told
her you shouldn't," she said, firmly. She smoothed her wild locks
down tightly over her ears as she spoke.
Pages:
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207