"I think," declared Mr. Jeminy, looking up at the sky, "I think—why, I think this wet weather will pass, Anna Barly. Yes, to-morrow will be cold and clear."
Anna did not answer him. She was tired; she had played, she had cried, now she wanted to rest.
In Frye's General Store, Mr. Frye and Mr. Crabbe were disputing a game of checkers. They sat opposite each other, stared at the checkerboard, and stroked their chins. Farmer Barly stood watching them. He puffed on his pipe, and nodded his head at every move. But all the while he was thinking about Anna. "Pretty near time she was settling down," he thought.
Mr. Frye jumped over two, and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. The hops of his own men put him into the best of humor. It was not that he wanted to win; he only wanted to do all the jumping. "Let me do the taking," he would have said, "and you can do the winning." When Mr. Crabbe hopped over three in a row, Mr. Frye became gloomy. He felt that Mr. Crabbe was getting all the pleasure. "You're too spry for me," he said. "You're like a flea. Well. . . ."
"It's your turn, Mr. F.," said Mr. Crabbe.
Mr. Frye looked at the board with distaste. There were no more jumps for him to make. He pushed a round black checker forward.
"There you are," he said.
"Here I go," declared Mr. Crabbe. And he began hopping again.
Mr. Frye shook his head. "I don't know as I'm feeling very good to-day," he told Farmer Barly.
As he was speaking, Anna Barly entered the store, on her way home.
Thomas Frye, who was behind the counter, came forward to meet her.
When she saw him, her cheeks, which were pale, grew red. "He can see I
was crying," she thought. "Well, I don't care. I hate him. What did
I stop for?"