“Good-evening,” said Charlotte.
“I saw you going by,” said Barney. Then he paused again, and Charlotte waited.
“I saw you going by,” he repeated, “and—I thought I'd like to speak to you. I wanted to thank you for what you did—about mother.”
“You're very welcome,” replied Charlotte.
Barney ground a stone beneath his heel. “I sha'n't ever forget it, and—father won't, either,” he said. His voice trembled, and yet there was a certain doggedness in it.
Charlotte stood waiting. Barney turned slowly away. “Good-night,” he said.
“Good-night,” returned Charlotte, quickly, and she fairly sprang away from him and down the road. Her limbs trembled, but she held her head up proudly. She understood it all perfectly. Barney had meant to inform her that his behavior towards her on the day his mother died had been due to a momentary weakness; that she was to expect nothing further. She went on to the store and did her errand, then went home. As she entered the kitchen her mother came through from the front room. She had been sitting at a window watching for Charlotte to return; she thought Barney might be with her.
“Well, you've got home,” said she, and it sounded like a question.
“Yes,” said Charlotte. She laid her parcels on the table. “I guess I'll go to bed,” she added.
“Why, it's dreadful early to go to bed, ain't it?”