Supper almost ready ... the appetizing smell of frying ham—there's nothing, being cooked, smells better....
Paul came in from work ... was working steady in the mills now, Aunt Rachel had informed me.
Paul came in without a word, his face a mask of such empty hopelessness that I was moved by it deeply.
"Paul, you mustn't take on so. It ain't right nor religious," said Uncle Josh, knocking the ashes out of his pipe ... he smoked and chewed in relays. Paul replied nothing.
"Come on, folks," put in Rachel, "supper's ready ... draw your chairs up to the table."
We ate our supper under a quiet, grey mood. An air of tragedy seemed to hang over us ... for the life of me I couldn't understand what had become of Paul's good-natured, rude jocosity. Why he had grown into a silent, sorrowful man....
"You kin bunk up with Paul to-night, Johnnie," announced Rachel, when it came bedtime.
Paul had already slunk off to bed right after supper. It was dark in the room when I got there.