“I shall stay here to-night, Barnabas,” said M’ri, “but I want you to drive back and get some things. I’ve made out a list. Janey will know where to find them.”
“Sha’n’t I take Dave back to stay to-night?” he suggested.
M’ri hesitated, and looked at David.
“No,” he said dully, following Barnabas listlessly down the path to the road. 34
Barnabas, keen, shrewd, and sharp at a bargain, had a heart that ever softened to motherless children.
“Dave,” he said gently, “your ma won’t never hev to wash no more, and she’ll never be sick nor tired agen.”
It was the first leaven to his loss, and he held tight to the horny hand of his comforter. After Barnabas had driven away there came trudging down the road the little, lithe figure of an old man, who was carrying a large box. His mildly blue, inquiring eyes looked out from beneath their hedge of shaggy eyebrows. His hair and his beard were thick and bushy. Joe Forbes maintained that Uncle Larimy would look no different if his head were turned upside down.
“David,” he said softly, “I’ve brung yer ma some posies. She liked my yaller roses, you know. I’m sorry my laylocks are gone. They come early this year.”
“Thank you, Uncle Larimy.”