He looked away from his mother as he
spoke, and his panting breath clouded the clear space on the frosty
window-pane. He sat beside the window in the rocking-chair.
"Mind you tell your father about them apples," repeated his mother as
she went out.
"Yes, ma'am," said Ephraim. He watched his mother drive out of the
yard, guiding the horse carefully through the frozen ridges of the
drive. Presently he took another spoonful of his medicine. He felt a
little easier, but still very ill. His father came a few minutes
after his mother had gone. He heard him stamping in through the back
door; then his frost-reddened old face looked in on Ephraim.
"Mother gone?" said he.
"She's jest gone," replied Ephraim. His father came in. He looked at
the boy with a childish and anxious sweetness. "Don't you feel quite
as well as you did?" he inquired.
"Dunno as I do."
"Took your medicine reg'lar?"
Ephraim nodded.
"I guess it's good medicine," said Caleb; "it come real high; I guess
the doctor thought consid'ble of it. I'd take it reg'lar if I was
you. I thought you looked as if you didn't feel quite so well as
common when I come in."
Caleb took off his boots and tended the fire. Ephraim began to feel a
little better; his heart did not beat quite so laboriously.
He did not say a word to his father about paring the apples.
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