Standing just inside the door, the missing girls were talking to Talitha, who, with her dress pinned up around her and a towel over her head, was busy cleaning. Three small children played near the fireplace, and beyond, propped upon an old pillow, her bright eyes watching the newcomer, was the tiniest woman they had ever seen.
“Have you had measles?” asked Talitha, waving her broom at them. “If you haven’t, stay out.”
“Of course,” answered Urilla scornfully, “years ago; but I don’t see any.”
Another wave directed them to a small bed near a darkened window. Two flushed faces peered above a ragged quilt.
“Why!” gasped Urilla, taking in the situation. “But how did you know? I thought—”
Miss Howard suddenly interrupted with, “This must be Mrs. Gantley. I intended to find you yesterday, but I thought you lived on the Big Hill pike. Are you feeling better?”
The little woman shifted her position slightly, a shadow of a smile flitting across her face. “Yes, since Tally came I’m easier in my mind. The children ain’t bad sick—jest feverish and powerful troublesome; I couldn’t keep ’em from ketchin’ cold no way, out o’ bed.”
Gincy and Talitha were having a quiet conference in another part of the room. “I found out this morning that she’s kin on mother’s side—way back,” said the latter in a low voice. “They used to live in Cowbell Hollow, but he ran away and left them a month ago.”
Talitha looked unutterable things as she referred to the recreant Mr. Gantley. Accustomed as she was to the delinquencies of the mountain men, the desertion of a helpless family seemed the blackest of crimes. She glanced meaningly in the direction of a large basket in the corner, and whispered, “They were almost starving. Martin helped me or I couldn’t have got it here—Mrs. Donnelly gave me so many things, but—”
“See here,” said Gincy, slipping an arm around Talitha’s waist, “I’m going to stay and help; I can go for a walk any Saturday. We’ll scrub the children, gather wood, and cook. Won’t it be fun!”