"Dat boy of Morley's has runned away from home!"
At this Ann Walden took off her spectacles and made no pretence of indifference.
"Run away?" she said. "I didn't know a Morley had spirit enough to do that even with conditions as they must be along of that woman of Martin's in the cabin. Where has he gone?"
"Nobody ain't knowing exactly—just gone! I expect he'll turn up again when his stomick done clutch him. Dat chile never done us-all no 'commodation job, but he was too good to live up to that cabin in de Holler. If I knowed whar he done hide himself, I clar I'd fotch him some victuals even if he was sharp as a sarpint's tooth in a bargain."
"If you hear of him, let me know," Ann Walden said quietly; "he's too good, as you say, to be left to that evil woman Martin lives with. I've had the boy on my mind for some time. He has the mark of cruelty and neglect; he' been mighty silent too, about it all—he resembles his grandfather."
And now Cynthia breathed again freely and happily. A breath of air stole through the window and across the room—the atmosphere was clearing.
"Whar's lil' Miss?"
"Lying down across in the library. Go close the door softly, Ivy, and come back. I have something to say to you about her."
The child upon the sofa wished to be alone with herself, so she shut her eyes and pretended sleep when the lean, black hand reached into the room and drew to the door. Cynthia wanted to think about Sandy; she wanted to follow him, in fancy, after her own fashion, and above all else she wanted to be with him in the Significant Room.
Once the door secured her from intrusion she arose from the sofa and locked it quietly; then she set the window wider to the summer day. The casement was choked with the yellow rosebush and heavy honeysuckle; the fragrance was almost stifling, but Cynthia heeded it not.