“Then we must keep it from the children,” she returned, with a half involuntary glance at Mrs. Lightcap.
“Yes,” said the latter, “we’ll manage that. Let’s get ’em up, give ’em their breakfast, and send ’em off somewhere’s, out o’ the way, afore the crowner comes.”
“Can I see my patient now? I must get my wife home as soon as possible,” the doctor said, with an anxious glance at Mildred’s pale cheeks and heavy eyes.
“She’d ought to have a bite o’ breakfast first,” Mrs. Lightcap remarked. “What’s in that basket in the buggy, doctor? Shall I fetch it in?”
“Ah, I forgot!” he exclaimed. “I’ll go for it. Mother sent it, with a message to you, Mrs. Selby, that she did so because she knew you would be too busy to do much cooking just now.”
“Just like her—always so thoughtful and kind,” Mrs. Selby said gratefully. “I’ll have mother ready to see you in a few moments, doctor; but Mrs. Landreth must have a cup of tea before she takes her ride. I’ve a fire kindled in the stove in the shed kitchen and—”
“And I’ll get the breakfast while you tend to your mother and the children,” interrupted Mrs. Lightcap, bustling about like one perfectly at home and in earnest to accomplish a great deal in the shortest possible space of time.
Half an hour later Mildred was driving home by her husband’s side, drinking in deep draughts of the fresh morning air, scented with the breath of wildwood flowers, and rejoicing that every step was taking her farther from the scene of last night’s horror and affright.
At the bridge they met the coroner and his jury on their way to hold the inquest over the dead man.
“Good-morning, doctor. Good-morning, Mrs. Landreth. Do you come from Mrs. Selby’s?” asked the coroner, pausing and lifting his hat to Mildred.