“Yes, I know; and I’ll do just whatever you tell me, Gertrude. I promised father I would the night before he died,” Patsey answered. And he set his teeth hard, because he did not want to be caught shedding tears in public.
“The trouble is, I can see no way out of the tangle myself. It is quite possible we may have to sell the farm, only I don’t see how we are going to get a living for mother and the children if we do,” Gertrude said.
“What is that?” asked Patsey, lifting his head with a jerk.
The two were in the family sitting-room, with the outer door open, although the window was shrouded with drawn blinds. The boy’s sharp ears had caught the sound of wheels coming up the field, and he half rose to his feet to go and see who was coming, then changed his mind and sank back on his seat once more.
“Perhaps it is Dr. Shaw; he said he might look in this evening and see how mother was going on. Run, Patsey, and open the gate for him; it will save him from having to get down,” said Gertrude.
Patsey darted off like the wind; it was a huge relief to him to run, only, with the solemn presence of death in the home, it had seemed almost improper to move beyond a slow walk.
Mrs. Lorimer was being watched over by Flossie for a little while, and a kindly neighbour had taken the two youngest children home with her, to be out of the way until the funeral was over.
Gertrude gathered up one or two things, which were lying about the room, with that instinct of tidiness which is second nature to some people.
She heard the doctor’s voice greet Patsey; then heard the gate bang and the wheels come on to the house and stop. Then she was startled by hearing a familiar voice saying—
“I can get down myself, thank you. I have one hand, you know.”