And Hemmy, condemned for the next half hour to drop little doughy circles in boiling lard, wondered, as she choked back a sob, why even the luxury of grief was denied her.
Carrington found solitude fast becoming unbearable.
He sent for Mrs. Kipley. He ordered her to tell Kipley to have the trap over at the Tray-Spot, and when Ned came up at the noon hour, to tell him he was needed at home at once.
Kipley had no sooner started than Carrington thought of the lad’s dignity. He would not make a baby of him. He dispatched Ike on Ned’s saddle horse, to tell Kipley to place himself at Mr. Wade’s disposal, to tell Ned to bring Hastings and Mr. Wade back to luncheon, if he chose; but to telephone him at once from the mine in any case.
He hobbled out on the veranda to wait for noon. He told himself that he was getting to be an old woman; that Ned was young and strong, and able to take care of himself anywhere; that Trevanion would keep his eyes open for any deviltry on Richards’ part; that Richards would look after any party which contained Mr. Wade and Hastings.
Then the sound of galloping hoofs came ominously. Ike, fairly hanging on the Colonel’s neck, came flying homeward.
Disaster was stamped on his terrorized face.
Carrington swung up on his crutch as the boy ran stumblingly up the walk.
The clatter brought Mrs. Kipley and Hemmy to the door.
“What is it?” Carrington called, sharply.