Champion Harrison nodded.
She looked at Jim, and I never saw such eyes in a human head, so large, and black, and wonderful. Boy as I was, I knew that, in spite of that bloated face, this woman had once been very beautiful. She put out a hand, with all the fingers going as if she were playing on the harpsichord, and she touched Jim on the shoulder.
“I hope—I hope you’re well,” she stammered.
“Very well, ma’am,” said Jim, staring from her to his uncle.
“And happy too?”
“Yes, ma’am, I thank you.”
“Nothing that you crave for?”
“Why, no, ma’am, I have all that I lack.”
“That will do, Jim,” said his uncle, in a stern voice. “Blow up the forge again, for that shoe wants reheating.”
But it seemed as if the woman had something else that she would say, for she was angry that he should be sent away. Her eyes gleamed, and her head tossed, while the smith with his two big hands outspread seemed to be soothing her as best he could. For a long time they whispered until at last she appeared to be satisfied.