“You fool!”
The old man loosed his grip on the handle of the door, strode across the kitchen, and disappeared into the shadows of his own bedroom. After that, for many minutes, there was silence between Dannie and Gabriel. The hired man was the first to speak.
“Well, as ol’ Isra’l Pidgin use to say, ‘Betwixt the fool an’ the philosopher, the fool’s the happiest.’ I shan’t lose no sleep to-night; he will. Come, Dannie, it’s high time fer both of us to foller his example an’ turn in.”
As he finished speaking, he passed through the open door, across the kitchen, and up the steep staircase to his own room.
Then Aunt Martha came out to where Dannie still stood on the porch, and laid her hand lovingly on his head.
“Gabriel’s right,” she said, “it’s time you were in bed.”
“Yes, I know; but isn’t it terrible, Aunt Martha?”
“It’s unfortunate, Dannie. But he had to know it; and the sooner, the better. You know how he is; and he’ll be partly over it by morning. But he’s very good to you, Dannie, very good.”
“Yes, Aunt Martha, he is. My father couldn’t have been better to me. Where is my father, Aunt Martha?”
She was not his aunt. He had no aunt, nor uncle either, for that matter. But she had taken him in her arms when his mother died, and she had nursed him in sickness, and fed him in health, and cared for him constantly; and she was just as proud of this rugged and manly boy as ever his own mother could have been. She could have answered the boy’s question. She and she only could have given him the information he desired. For, through all the years, she had kept in touch with Charlie Pickett. She had written letters to him at midnight, and mailed them secretly, telling him of his child’s health and growth and prosperity. But she did not dare to tell this boy what she knew; she dared only to tell him what she hoped.