Mrs. Bell smiled tenderly. “You dear child!” she said; as if an affectionate five-year old had offered to get her a rainbow, “I know you mean it all for the best. But, O my dearest! I'd rather have you—here—at home with me—-than any other 'good time' you can imagine!”
She could not see the suffering in her daughter's face; but she felt she had made an impression, and followed it up with heart-breaking sincerity. She caught the girl to her breast and held her like a little child. “O my baby! my baby! Don't leave your mother. I can't bear it!”
A familiar step outside, heavy, yet uncertain, and they both looked at each other with frightened eyes.
They had forgotten the biscuit.
“Supper ready?” asked Mr. Bell, with grim humor.
“It will be in a moment, Father,” cried Diantha springing to her feet. “At least—in a few moments.”
“Don't fret the child, Father,” said Mrs. Henderson softly. “She's feeling bad enough.”
“Sh'd think she would,” replied her husband. “Moreover—to my mind—she ought to.”
He got out the small damp local paper and his pipe, and composed himself in obvious patience: yet somehow this patience seemed to fill the kitchen, and to act like a ball and chain to Diantha's feet.
She got supper ready, at last, making griddle-cakes instead of biscuit, and no comment was made of the change: but the tension in the atmosphere was sharply felt by the two women; and possibly by the tall old man, who ate less than usual, and said absolutely nothing.