He entered. There was no lamp and the room was dark.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
“Here, by the window, Uncle Shad.”
She was sitting in the rocker by the window. He could not see her face, but as he bent and kissed her cheek he found it wet.
“Mercy on us! You've been cryin'!” he declared.
“Oh—Oh, no, I haven't! I—”
“Rubbish! Yes, you have, too. Settin' alone up here in the dark and cryin'! Mary-'Gusta Lathrop, come here!”
She had risen from the rocking-chair, but he seized her in his arms, sat down in the chair himself, and lifted her to his knee just as he used to do when she was the little Mary-'Gusta.
“Now there, dearie,” he said. “You'll tell your Uncle Shad. What is it?”
“Oh, nothing, Uncle Shad, dear. I was—I'm feeling just a little silly this afternoon, I guess. You mustn't ask me.”