Boy bent and kissed his mother gently on the cheek, and when she and Big McTavish had gone from the room Gloss came over and stood before the young man.
“Tell me,” she whispered, her cheeks flaming.
“Tell you?” he exclaimed. “Tell you what, Gloss?”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Why, nothin’, Glossie; nothin’,” said Boy, looking up.
“You are troubled about somethin’,” she persisted. “Won’t you tell me?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t worry about me, little girl,” he smiled, “there ain’t really anythin’ the matter.”
A slight tremor went through the girl’s form and the long lashes fell and hid her eyes. She turned slowly and walked toward the door. On its threshold Boy caught her, and then as quickly let his arms fall.
She leaned against the wall, her eyes still closed. The color had left her cheeks and her lips trembled. When she opened her eyes Boy was sitting before the fire, his head drooping.