"Set ri' down," said he. "Don't wait a minute. I'll be along."
So Amelia and the guest began their meal, while little Rosie climbed, rather soberly, into her higher chair, and held out her plate.
"You wait," said Amelia harshly. "Can't you let other folks eat a mouthful before you have to have yours?" Yet as she said it, she remembered, with a remorseful pang, that she had always helped the child first; it had been so sweet to see her pleased and satisfied.
Josiah was never talkative during meals. Not being absolute master of his teeth, his mind dwelt with them. Amelia remembered that, with a malicious satisfaction. But he could not be altogether dumb. That, people said, would never happen to Josiah Pease while he was above ground.
"That his girl?" he asked, indicating Rosie with his knife, in a gustatory pause.
"Whose?" inquired Amelia willfully.
"His." He pointed again, this time to the back room, where Enoch was still washing his hands.
"Yes."
"Mother dead?"
Amelia sprang from her chair, while Rosie looked at her with the frightened glance of a child to whom some half-forgotten grief has suddenly returned.