Chapter XLIV: Picking Up Threads
CASTLETON arrived at Bochyn under a November sunset, whose lemon glow, barred with indigo banks of cloud, was reflected with added brightness in the flooded meadows and widening stream. Jenny in the firelight was singing and rocking her baby to sleep. She jumped up to open the door to his knock.
"Why, Fuz," she said simply.
He stood enormous against the last gleams of day, and Jenny realized with what small people she had been living so long.
"Jane," he said, "this is a big moment."
He followed her into the room and waited while she lit the lamp and pointed with warning finger to the child asleep in a silence of ticking clocks.
"There's a surprise, or isn't it?"
"Rather," said Castleton. "It looks very well."
"Oh, Fuz. It! You are dreadful. He's called Frank, and fancy, I never knew you were called Frank till you wrote to me last month."
"Another disappointment," sighed Castleton.