“Guess I was wonderin’,” he said, plying his knife and fork with some show of indifference.
A silence followed. Ma helped herself to more tea and refilled her husband’s mug.
“Guess we’ll have to tell the child,” she said presently.
“Seems like.”
A longer silence followed.
“She was jest askin’ why Seth didn’t write.”
“I kind o’ figgered suthin’ o’ that natur’. You’d best tell her.”
Rube rested the ends of his knife and fork on the extremities of his plate and took a noisy draught from his huge mug of tea. A quiet smile lurked in the old woman’s eyes.
“Rosebud’s mighty impulsive,” she observed slowly.
“Ef you mean she kind o’ jumps at things, I take it that’s how.”