Evelyn turned abruptly and saw her sister's face, then she ran to her and threw her arms around her neck and pulled her head against her shoulder. “What is it? What is it?” she cried, in her sobbing, emotional voice, which any stress aroused.
Maria raised her head and pushed Evelyn gently away. “Nothing whatever is the matter, dear,” she said, firmly, and took up her work again.
“Folks don't turn as white as sheets if nothing is the matter,” said Aunt Maria, still in her harsh, accusing voice. “I want to know what is the matter. Did your dinner hurt you? You ate that lemon-pie.”
“I feel perfectly well, Aunt Maria,” replied Maria, making one of her tremendous efforts of will, which actually sent the color back to her face. She smiled as she spoke.
“You do look better,” said Aunt Maria doubtfully.
“Yes, you do,” said Evelyn.
“Maybe it was the light,” said Aunt Maria in a reassured tone.
“There isn't much light to see to sew by, I know that,” Maria said in an off-hand tone. “I believe I will take a little run down to the post-office for the night mail. Evelyn, you can help Aunt Maria get supper, can't you, dear?”
“Of course I can,” said Evelyn. “But are you sure you are well enough to go alone?”
“Nonsense!” said Maria, rising and folding her work.