“No.�
“Isn’t that queer? I should think he’d be here,� said Dick.
He and Anne ran to look out of the window, but Mrs. Osborne sat silent, with averted face.
“You look so tired, Cousin Polly!� said Anne. “Do lie down a little while. We’ll watch.�
“No,� Mrs. Osborne said quietly. “I am not tired. I must go out and feed the stock, and the pigeons.�
“Let me do it,� said Dick.
“We’ll help you,� said Anne.
“No. You mustn’t go outdoors and risk being seen. I’ll be back in a little while.�
Mrs. Osborne made the rounds of the farmyard. Last of all, she carried a bucketful of small grain to the pigeon cote, and scattered it on the ground. The pretty, gentle birds fluttered around her and alighted on her arms and shoulders. She stroked the shining plumage of one of her husband’s pets. Then her lips quivered and she dropped her face in her hands.
“God help me!� she said. “If he were alive, he would have come back to me.�