Everyone rose from the table, and the day’s routine began again in its accustomed groove. Mr. Lambert departed for the warehouse. Elise helped the fat young servant girl to clear away the dishes; Carl went out to bring in wood for the stove; even the twins had their household tasks which had to be finished before they started to school at eight o’clock.
But Jane went off to find her Grandmother. Behind the counter, in the bakeshop, the old woman was sitting, weeping quietly; and the slow tears of age were trickling down her wrinkled, brown face, while she strained her eyes to read the crooked awkward lines of her son’s letter.
“He was a good boy,” she said, taking Jane’s little hand in her gnarled old one. “I understood him, never fear. He was a brave, fine boy—and he always loved his old mother. I know that. Didn’t he send me this pretty shawl—”
“But Granny, darling, he may get well. Don’t cry, Granny. Don’t you cry.” She kissed the old woman, and patted her, feeling awed and oppressed by this aged sorrow that she could not share.
After a minute, she quietly left Grandmother Winkler, and in an unusually silent, and subdued mood, went away to help the twins.
[CHAPTER II—BUSYBODY JANE]
At half past eight, Elise had seen that the two little girls had their books and their packages of sandwiches, and started them off to school, Carl and Jane marching behind.
“Oh, and Janey!” she called, hastening back to the doorway. “Will you remember to give those patterns back to Lily Deacon for me. I’m going to be so busy. Any time this afternoon will do. I put them in your school bag.”
“All right,” said Jane, and Elise, always busy, always placid and gentle, went back to her work.
“Well, what do you think about it?” Jane asked, presently. She had quite forgotten her recent friction with Carl, for quick tempered as she was, she rarely remembered a quarrel ten minutes after it occurred.