John smoked for a little while. Then: “I’m wondering what it is,” he murmured. “Something has happened to him.”
Ruth, head bent above her work, remembered Darrin’s coming, his summons. But she said nothing till John asked: “Do you know what it was?”
“He was talking with Fred,” she said; and slowly, cheeks rosy, amended herself: “With Mr. Darrin.”
John nodded. “I knew they were away together.”
“Mr. Darrin came for him,” said Ruth. “He took your father away.”
They said no more of the matter, for there was nothing more to say; but they thought a great deal. Now and then they spoke of other things. Outside the house the wind was whistling and lashing the weatherboards with rain; and after a while the sharp sound of the raindrops was intensified to a clatter and John said, “It’s turned to hail. There’ll be snow by morning.”
The girl thought of Darrin. “He’ll be wet and cold out in this. He ought to come up to the barn.”
John smiled. “He can care for himself. His shelter will turn this, easy. He’d come if he wanted to come.”
His tone was friendly and Ruth asked, watching him, “You like Mr. Darrin, don’t you?”
“Yes,” John told her. “Yes,” he said slowly; “I like the man.”