The dinner was a lavish one, beginning with turkey and ending with ice-cream. Mr. Perkins heaped Hazel’s plate, urging her to eat. But though these were her favorite dishes her appetite was small. He encouraged her to tell him of her doings, of how well she ranked at school. “Right at the top, Hazel; you know you are going to college.” He asked how she liked the new story he had given her, “The Jungle Book.” After dinner was over he took her to his study across the hall from the parlor where the two women sat.
“How Henry loves children,” Mrs. Tyler said to her friend. Mrs. Perkins nodded. Behind where she sat, was the picture of the only child born to her and her husband, the child whom they had lost five years ago. She knew how his hungry heart went out to this little girl.
Mrs. Tyler faced the picture. She had loved the child and mothered her. A lump rose in her throat.
“Sarah,” she said, laying her hand on her friend’s arm, “I’ve got to talk with you about Hazel. I’m worried, I’m worried.”
“Hazel, why hasn’t she been well?”
“No, all this autumn she has seemed so delicate. She takes cold easily and she doesn’t throw it off. I fear the long winter for her.”
“I wish you hadn’t left Jamaica Plains.”
“I had to. I mustn’t spend the little money left me. I must work and save. Hazel will need more every year. But I don’t want to save just for doctor’s bills. Sometimes, Sarah, she frightens me. She looks as her father looked——”
Mrs. Tyler stopped. She could not yet speak of her husband’s long illness and of the blank left by his death.
“I’m not saying this just to complain,” she went on after a moment. “I’ve a wild idea that I can’t keep out of my head.”