She caught the girl to her breast and held her like a little
child. "O my baby! my baby! Don't leave your mother. I can't bear
it!"
A familiar step outside, heavy, yet uncertain, and they both looked at
each other with frightened eyes.
They had forgotten the biscuit.
"Supper ready?" asked Mr. Bell, with grim humor.
"It will be in a moment, Father," cried Diantha springing to her feet.
"At least--in a few moments."
"Don't fret the child, Father," said Mrs. Henderson softly. "She's
feeling bad enough."
"Sh'd think she would," replied her husband. "Moreover--to my mind--she
ought to."
He got out the small damp local paper and his pipe, and composed himself
in obvious patience: yet somehow this patience seemed to fill the
kitchen, and to act like a ball and chain to Diantha's feet.
She got supper ready, at last, making griddle-cakes instead of biscuit,
and no comment was made of the change: but the tension in the atmosphere
was sharply felt by the two women; and possibly by the tall old man, who
ate less than usual, and said absolutely nothing.
"I'm going over to see Edwards about that new incubator," he said when
the meal was over, and departed; and Mrs. Bell, after trying in vain to
do her mending, wiped her clouded glasses and went to bed.
Diantha made all neat and tidy; washed her own wet eyes again, and went
out under the moon.
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