"Mis' Ray's Ezra told her last night," proceeded the doctor's wife,
"that the night before your son died he run away unbeknown to you,
an' went slidin' down hill. The doctor says mebbe that was what
killed him. He said you'd ought to know."
Deborah leaned forward; her face worked like the breaking up of an
icy river. "Be you sure?" said she.
"Ezra told me last night," interposed Mrs. Ray. "I had a hard time
gettin' it out of him; he promised Ephraim he wouldn't tell. But
somethin' he said made me suspect, an' I got it out of him. He said
Ephraim told him he run away, an' he left him there slidin' when he
came home. 'Twas as much as 'leven o'clock then; I remember I give
Ezra a whippin' next mornin' for stayin' out so late. But then, of
course, whippin' Ezra wa'n't nothin' like whippin' Ephraim."
"The doctor says most likely that was what killed him, after all, an'
you'd ought to know," said the doctor's wife.
"Be you sure?" said Deborah again.
"Ephraim wa'n't to blame. He never had no show; he never went
a-slidin' like the other little fellers," said Caleb, suddenly, out
of his corner; and he snivelled as he spoke.
Deborah turned on him sharply. "Did you know anything about it?" said
she.
"He told me on 't that mornin'," said Caleb; "he told me how he'd
been a-slidin', an' how he eat some mince-pie."
"Eat--some--mince-pie!" gasped Deborah, and there was a great light
of hope in her face.
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