"Vi! Vi! That you, dear?"
She pulled at her strength and opened the door suddenly, blowing in like a gale. "It's me, darlin'."
She was suddenly radiant as morning, and a figure on the bed in the far corner of the dim-lit room raised to greet her with vague, white-sleeved arms outstretched. She flew to their haven.
"Darlin', darlin', how you feeling?"
"Vi, poor tired little girl!"
"Harry, how you feeling, darlin'? They worked the force all night—first time ever. How you feeling, darlin'—how?" And she burrowed kisses on the poor, white face, and then deep into the tiny crib and back again into the vague white arms. "Oh, my babies, both of you! How you feeling, darlin'? So worried I've been. And the kid! Oh, God, darlin', I—I been so busy rightin' stock and all—all night they kept the force. I got such news, darlin'. We should worry that it's snowing! Such news, darlin'! The kid, Harry—did Mrs. Quigley bring her milk on time? How you feeling, darlin'! You 'ain't coughed, have you?"
He kissed her damp hair and turned her face up like a flower, so that his deep-sunk eyes read into hers. "I 'ain't coughed once since noon, darlin'. We should worry if it snows is right! A doctor's line of talk can't knock me out. I can buck up without going South. I 'ain't coughed once since noon, Vi; I—"
A strangling paroxysm shook him in mockery of his words, and she crouched low beside the bed, her face etched in the agony of bearing each rack and pain with him.
"Oh, my darlin'! Oh—oh—"
"It's—all right now, Vi! It's all right! It's all right!"