"Grandfather," she said kindly, "we're here." She even laid her hand on his shoulder. "Wake up, grandfather!" She spoke sharply, angry at his failure to respond to her unaccustomed gentleness of speech. Her hand fell upon his shoulder once more, this time heavily, and her finger-tips touched a jagged edge of cloth. "What—" she began. She remembered the old coat, which she had long since made up her mind to burn. She felt for the buttons down the front, the belt with its broad plate. Yes, it was—Then suddenly she touched his hands, and screamed and ran, crying, toward the barn.
"John!" she called. "John! Grandfather is dead."
VIII
THE GREAT DAY
Old Billy Gude strode slowly into the kitchen, where his wife bent over the stove. Just inside the door he stopped, and chewed meditatively upon the toothpick in his mouth. His wife turned presently to look at him.
"What are you grinning at?" she asked pleasantly.
Billy did not answer. Instead he sat down in his armchair and lifted his feet to the window-sill.
"Won't you speak, or can't you?" demanded Mrs. Gude.
When he still did not respond, she gravely pushed her frying-pan to the back of the stove, and went toward the door. Before her hand touched the latch, however, Billy came to himself.
"Abbie!" he cried.
"I can't stop now," answered Mrs. Gude. "I gave you your chance to tell what you got to tell. Now you can wait till I come home."