She slipped down suddenly into a chair and covered her face, her thin shoulders shaking. Luke went and touched her awkwardly. Times he would have liked to put his arms round Maw—now more than ever; but he didn’t dare.
“Don’t take on, Maw! Don’t!”
“Who’s takin’ on?” She lifted a fierce, sallow, tear-wet face. “Hain’t no use makin’ a fuss. All’s left’s to work—to work, an’ die after a while.”
“I hate ’em! Uncle Clem an’ her, I mean.”
“They mean kindness—their way.” But her tears started afresh.
“I hate ’em!” Luke’s voice grew shriller. “I’d like—I’d like—Oh, damn ’em!”
“Don’t swear, boy!”
It was Tom who broke in on them. “It’s a letter from Rural Free Delivery. He jest dropped it.”
He came up, grinning, with the missive. The mother’s fingers closed on it nervously.
“From Nat, mebbe—he ain’t wrote in months.”