Caleb came to her after dinner, with a strange, defiant air. "I want
a clean dicky, mother; I'm agoin'," said he. And Deborah got out the
old man's Sunday clothes for him without a word. She even brushed his
hair with hard, careful strokes, and helped him on with his
great-coat; but she never said a word about Rebecca and her baby's
funeral.
"They had some white posies on it," Caleb volunteered, tremblingly,
when he got home.
Deborah made no reply.
"There was quite a lot there," added Caleb.
"Go an' bring me in some kindlin' wood," said Deborah.
Ephraim stood by, staring alternately at his father and mother. He
had watched the funeral procession pass with furtive interest.
"It won't hurt you none to make a few lamp-lighters," said his
mother. "You set right down here, an' I'll get you some paper."
Ephraim clapped his hand to his side, and rolled his eyes agonizingly
towards his mother, but she took no notice. She got some paper out of
the cupboard, and Ephraim sat down and began quirling it into long
spirals with a wretched sulky air.
Since his sister's marriage Ephraim had had a sterner experience than
had ever fallen to his lot before. His mother redoubled her
discipline over him. It was as if she had resolved, since all her
vigorous training had failed in the case of his sister, that she
would intensify it to such purpose that it should not fail with him.
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