A week ago he had been interested in the minor
details of life; to-night he felt that they bored him profoundly.
"If you knew what you were saying you'd hold your tongue," he retorted
angrily.
"Ain't you goin' to eat yo' supper?" inquired Sarah anxiously, "that
herrin' is real nice and brown."
"I don't want anything. I'm not hungry."
"Mebbe you'd like one of the brandied peaches I'm savin' for Christmas?"
"No, I'm dead beat. I'll go up to sleep pretty soon."
"Do you want a fire? I can lay one in a minute."
He shook his head, not impatiently, but as one to whom brandied peaches
and wood fires are matters of complete indifference.
"I've got to see about something in the stable first. Then I'll go to
bed."
Taking down a lantern from a nail by the door, he went out, as was his
nightly habit, to look at his grey mare Hannah. When he came in again
and stumbled up the narrow staircase to his room, he found that Sarah
had been before him and kindled a blaze from resinous pine on the two
bricks in the fireplace. At the sound of his step, she entered with an
armful of pine boughs, which she tossed to the flames.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218