THE TENSION SNAPS
Months back Fate had flung out a skein of broken threads to the wind of Chance. In mid September she chose to bring the flying ends together.
It began when Hannah dropped a dipper. Hughie on his way to the wood-box with an armful of kindlings jumped and dropped them with a clatter. And he stepped on Toby's tail and swore. Hannah and Hughie and Toby, startled, shared a sharp moment of resentment.
"Hughie," Hannah's impatience keyed her voice a trifle high, "'pon my honor I don't know what gets into you. Ever since you took to diggin' dots you've been as nervous as a cat. You're full of jumps. It's my opinion if the doctor hadn't told you that Mr. O'Neill himself buried the money in the fireplace, you'd be diggin' dots in a lunatic asylum!"
Hughie's horrified face of warning turned her cold with foreboding. Hannah turned and gasped.
Joan stood behind her.
"Hannah," she asked, "what did you say?"
"I—I don't know," said Hannah, scarlet with confusion. "I'm all unstrung and my head's queer—"
Hughie went out and slammed the door.
"You said that Mr. O'Neill—buried—the money—in Uncle's fireplace!" repeated Joan distinctly. She caught Hannah's arm, her dark frightened eyes imploring. "Hannah, did he?"