“Come along then.”
Hare rose, opened the door and followed August. The room was bright with lights; the table was set, and the Naabs, large and small, were standing expectantly. As Hare found a place behind them Snap Naab entered with his wife. She was as pale as if she were in her shroud. Hare caught Mother Ruth's pitying subdued glance as she drew the frail little woman to her side. When August Naab began fingering his Bible the whispering ceased.
“Why don't they fetch her?” he questioned.
“Judith, Esther, bring her in,” said Mother Mary, calling into the hallway.
Quick footsteps, and the girls burst in impetuously, exclaiming: “Mescal's not there!”
“Where is she, then?” demanded August Naab, going to the door. “Mescal!” he called.
Succeeding his authoritative summons only the cheery sputter of the wood-fire broke the silence.
“She hadn't put on her white frock,” went on Judith.
“Her buckskins aren't hanging where they always are,” continued Esther.
August Naab laid his Bible on the table. “I always feared it,” he said simply.