“I don’t know,” Lucy replied wearily. 86
She was tired and hungry and wished Ellen would abandon spying on her neighbors and give her a helping hand.
“Yes,” commented Ellen from the window, “those women handle that bag as if they had a chiny image in it. I can’t for the life of me figger out what can be in it.”
For an interval there was silence. Lucy set the mop and pail out in the hall and began to clean the paint.
“They’ve started to cover it up,” chronicled Ellen, after a pause. “They’re shovelin’ in the dirt—at least Mary and Jane are; Eliza’s stopped helpin’ ’em an’ gone to see if anybody’s comin’. There’s somethin’ dretful queer about it all. Don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know,” answered Lucy a trifle impatiently.
Again Ellen studied the distance.
“Look!” she cried an instant later. “Look! ’Liza’s callin’ an’ motionin’ to ’em. They’re droppin’ their shovels and runnin’ for the house like a lot of scared sheep. Probably Martin’s comin’, an’ they don’t want him to catch ’em. There! What did I tell you? It is Martin. I can see him drivin’ over the hill. Watch ’em skitter!” 87
Lured more by the desire to see Martin than to observe his panic-stricken sisters, Lucy went to the window. It was even as Ellen had said. There were the retreating forms of the three female Howes disappearing in at the side door; and there was Martin, his tall figure looming in sight at the heels of his bay mare.
“He’s a fine looking man, isn’t he?” Lucy remarked with thoughtless impulsiveness.