Aunt Kate set her lips.
“Sweepings! You’ve got to take that back, Abel. It’s not Christian. You’ve got to take that back.”
“He’ll take it back all right before we’ve done, I guess,” remarked Black Andy. “He’ll take a lot back.”
“Truth’s truth, and I’ll stand by it, and—”
The old man stopped, for there came to them now, clearly, the sound of sleigh bells. They all stood still for an instant, silent and attentive, then Aunt Kate moved towards the door.
“Cassy’s come,” she said. “Cassy and George’s boy’ve come.”
Another instant and the door was opened on the beautiful, white, sparkling world, and the low sleigh, with its great warm buffalo robes, in which the small figures of a woman and a child were almost lost, stopped at the door. Two whimsical but tired eyes looked over a rim of fur at the old woman in the doorway, then Cassy’s voice rang out.
“Hello, that’s Aunt Kate, I know! Well, here we are, and here’s my boy. Jump, George!”
A moment later, and the gaunt old woman folded both mother and son in her arms and drew them into the room. The door was shut, and they all faced each other.
The old man and Black Andy did not move, but stood staring at the trim figure in black, with the plain face, large mouth, and tousled red hair, and the dreamy-eyed, handsome little boy beside her.