[Chapter V.]
Judith went straight to Uncle Jem, sobbing all the way unconsciously; she was not conscious of anything but what Mrs. Ben had said.
“They’ve gone away!—they’ve gone away!—they’ve gone away!” It reiterated itself to her in dull monotony, keeping slow time with the throbbing pain of her disappointment.
Uncle Jem heard her coming—in some surprise, she came so fast. What was the child hurrying like that for? What had happened?
“I hear ye, child!” he called cheerily. The time-worn little pleasantry did him service as usual. “I’m layin’ low for ye!”
She crossed the outer threshold and the little box of a kitchen without slackening her excited pace, and appeared in the old man’s doorway, breathless and flushed.
“It’s too late!” she gasped, briefly. Then, because she needed comforting and Uncle Jem was her comforter of old, her head went down on the patchwork quilt that covered his twisted old frame, and she cried like a grief-struck little child.
“There, there, deary!” he crooned, his twisted fingers traveling across her hair, “jest you lay there an’ cry it all out—don’t ye hurry any. When ye get all done an’ good an’ ready, tell Uncle Jem what it’s all about. But take your time, little un—take your time.”
The child was worn out in every thread of the over-strained young body. The excitement and nervous rack of the last twenty-four hours was having sway now, and would not be put aside. And the keen disappointment that Mrs. Ben’s words had brought, added to all the rest, had proved too much even for Judith Lynn. She cried on, taking her time.
“There now! that’s right, storm’s clearin’!” said Uncle Jem, as at length the brown head lifted slowly. “Now we’ll pull out o’ harbor and get to work.” Which meant that now explanations were in order. Judith understood.