Martha Jane nodded. "Poor Joel!" she murmured. "I see. You haven't the heart to tell her. Well, I will do it for you."
The elder Whaleys sat on the veranda. Tilly was not in sight. "I'll stay here in the buggy. You go in," Joel said. "They will let you talk to her alone. They always do."
Martha Jane got down to the ground between the parted wheels of the buggy and went into the yard.
"Where is Tilly, Mrs. Whaley?" she asked.
"Up in her room," Mrs. Whaley said. "Will you go up, or wait down here?"
"I'll run up, I guess," the visitor answered, with assumed lightness. "Joel, wait for me. I'll be down soon."
"Won't you come in, Joel?" Mrs. Whaley asked.
"No, I thank you, Mrs. Whaley," he said. "I'll watch my horse out here."
He remained seated in the buggy, slightly bending forward. A horse-fly was teasing the shuddering back of his horse, and he deftly flicked at it with his whip till he had knocked it away. A man in a field across the road was gathering yellow pumpkins and loading them into a cart. Joel himself had several acres of pumpkins ready for harvesting, and ordinarily he would have been interested in the quantity and quality of this farmer's product, but there were graver things on his mind now. Surely Martha Jane was staying a long time up-stairs. Had she put it delicately enough? Had she omitted to mention the fact of Trott's taking the child away with him? Joel had intended emphasizing that, for it was a thing any wife would be proud to hear of the man she had married. The time dragged even more slowly now. Old Whaley left his seat, walked around to the well, drew up a bucket of water, and drank from the bucket itself, tilting it forward with both his hands. Then Mrs. Whaley went into the house. Presently Martha Jane came down the stairs and out into the yard.
"Good-by, Mrs. Whaley," she called out. "I must be going now."