Betsey worked away, thinking all the time how much good the fresh air on the water was doing Tom. She got along very well through the forenoon; cleaning up the house, and putting things in place, till dinner-time; then how lonesome it was not to have Tom's handsome face opposite her! and nobody to say, "Betsey, dear, here's your favorite bit;" or, "Betsey, dear, where's your appetite to-day?" It made her so dull, that she couldn't eat her dinner.
I am sorry to say that Betsey had no darling little girl or boy, to climb up in her lap, and talk to her about papa. Betsey was sorry too, and so was Tom.
Well, the afternoon wore away. It was five o'clock;—time Betsey had begun to get tea, for Tom would soon be home. Let's see!—she would make some flap-jacks. Tom was fond of flap-jacks. She'd make him a real strong cup of coffee: he liked that better than tea. She would cook him a bit of beef steak too, for she knew that fishing always gave people a good appetite. So she stepped around briskly, and spread her snow-white table-cloth, and put on her cups and saucers, and plates, and the castor—(yes, the castor on the tea table! for they didn't care a pin for fashion); and when she had cooked her supper, she looked at the clock. Yes, it was quite time he was there; and then she looked out the front door, just as if she could look him home.
An hour went by—an hour after the time he said he'd come; and Tom always punctual to the minute, too. Betsey grew nervous. Somebody rang the bell. She flew to the door. (Tom never rang the bell.) It was only a boy inquiring for the next neighbor. Betsey pulled a little wrinkle out of the table-cloth, set Tom's chair up to the table, and peeped into the coffee-pot. It was all right. He would soon be there. But somehow she couldn't keep still a minute. She had a great mind (if she were not afraid of being laughed at) to run down to Phil Dolan's brother's, to see if Phil had got back.
There's the bell again! Betsey trembled so she could hardly get to the door, though she couldn't tell why.
It is Phil's brother.
Why don't Betsey speak to him? Why don't he speak to Betsey? Why are his lips so ashen white?
Poor Betsey! she knew it all; though he has not spoken a word.
Tom is drowned.
Phil lifts Betsey from the floor, chafes her hands, and speaks to her pitifully. Betsey does not answer: she does not even hear him.