As a strain of music or a floating melody will linger in the background with insistent repetition, while the brain is at the same time busily occupied with surface affairs, so he found himself repeating some of her quaint phrases, and seeing her eyes—the wisps of wind-blown hair—and the smile on her lips, as she turned away, like an accompaniment to all he was thinking and doing.
Soon, equipped for whatever the emergency might demand, he was at the widow's door. His horse nickered and stretched out his nose toward Cassandra's colt as if glad to have once more a little horse companionship. Side by side they stood, with bridles slipped back and hung to their saddles, while they crunched contentedly at the corn on the ear, which Hoyle had brought them.
While at dinner, Cassandra showed David her books, pleased that he asked to see them. "I brought them to study, should I get time. It's right hard to give up hope—" she glanced at her mother and lowered her voice. "To stop—anyhow—I thought I might teach Hoyle a little."
"Ah, these are mostly school-books," he said, glancing them over.
"Yes, I was at school this time—near Farington it was. Once I stayed with Bishop Towahs and helped do housework. I could learn a heap there—between times. They let me have all the books I wanted to read." She looked lovingly at her few precious school-books. "I haven't touched these since I got back—we're that busy."
Then she resumed her work about the house, cooking at the fireplace, waiting upon David, and serving her mother, while directing Hoyle what to do, should she be detained that night. He demurred and hung about her, begging her not to stay.
"I won't, son, without I can't help it. You won't care so much now—mother's not bad like she was."
"Yas, I will," he mourned.
"I reckon I'll have to call you 'baby' again," said his mother. "You're gettin' that babyfied since Cass come back doin' all fer ye. You has a heap o' company. Thar's the cow to keer fer, 'n' ol' Pete hollerin' at ye, an' the chickens tellin' how many aigs they've laid fer ye. Run now. Thar's ol' Frizzle cacklin'. Get the aig, an' we'll send hit to the pore sick man. Thar, Cass," she added, as Hoyle ran out, half ashamed, to do her bidding—"hit's your own fault fer makin' such a baby of him. I 'low you betteh take 'long a few fresh aigs; likely they'll need 'em, so triflin' they be. I don't guess you'll find a thing in the house fer him to eat."
Cassandra packed one of her oddly shaped little baskets, as her mother suggested, for the sadly demoralized and distracted family to which they were going, and tucked in with the rest the warm, newly laid egg Hoyle brought her, smiling indulgently, and kissing his upturned face as she took it from him.