Joel shuffled into the room on the stroke of twelve. "Mis' Thompson says she'll likely go by sometime to-day or to-morrow and she'll stop in."
Persis did not reply, and for the first time Joel noticed his sister's unusual attitude. He looked at her and then at the clock.
"Ain't dinner ready?"
"Dinner?"
"Yes, dinner! What ails you? You act as if you'd never heard of such a thing as meal-time."
"I didn't think it was time for dinner yet," Persis answered, rousing herself. Again Joel inspected her sharply.
"Haven't you been sewing this morning?"
"No, I did start, but I didn't feel like keeping it up."
Joel's face expressed mingled concern and amazement. That Persis should sit idle a morning from choice was extraordinary enough to be alarming. "Don't you feel well?"
"Me? Oh, yes, I'm all right." Persis went into the next room and began her preparations for the meal. It took her longer than usual. Joel watched the clock with frowning vexation, but some quality abnormal and vaguely disquieting in his sister's manner kept him from putting into words the impression that a man who is kept waiting a full hour for his dinner is hardly used.