"In the house," answered little Joel. "Supper is nearly ready."
"Hold your sister," Eperson ordered, as he started the horse and walked along by the wagon; "she might fall."
Tilly came to the front door and stood watching them as they drew nearer. The sun was going down, and its last slanting rays made a living picture of her in the crude frame of logs. She looked older than the average woman of her age, and yet there was a rounded mellowness to her features, a suave, spiritual radiance from her skin, eyes, and hair, which always caught and held the attention of an observer. The same quality seemed to pervade her voice. It had always been musical; it was even more so now. Her husband saw that she was all aglow and smiling as she stepped down to the wagon and held out her arms for the little girl.
"Not a long ride, was it, pet?" she said, as the child put its arms around her neck and kissed her cheek.
Taking up the parcel, Joel handed it to his wife. "Mrs. Cavanaugh sent it," he explained. "It is the waists."
"Mrs. Cavanaugh?" Tilly said, in groping surprise. "Where did you see her?"
"I sold Cavanaugh the wood." Joel felt the heat flow into his cheeks. "He ordered it a week ago."
"Was he—was he at home?" Tilly held the child's face to hers, and Joel noted a tense ripple of expectation in her voice.
"Yes, he was there." Joel lowered his head to take up the reins he had dropped, preparatory to driving around to the wagon-shed. From the corner of his eyes he saw that Tilly stood rigid at his side, and he thought he knew why she lingered thus. He was starting his horse, when she said, suddenly:
"Well, come right in. Your supper is ready."