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"Y! Samuel Blount!" said the younger one, coming near and smiting him playfully on the elbow. "You stop!" Miss Letitia began laughing silently. They never laughed aloud. "If he didn't murder us," said Miss S'mantha, doubtfully. "Nonsense," said the trustee; "I'll answer for him." "Can't tell what men'll do," she persisted weakly.
Sidney Trove sat talking a while with Miss Letitia. Miss S'mantha, unable longer to bear the unusual strain of danger and publicity, went away to bed soon after supper. Tunk Hosely came in with a candle about nine. "Wal, mister," said he, "you ready t' go t' bed?" "I am," said Trove, and followed him to the cold hospitality of the spare room, a place of peril but beautifully clean.
It began to kick and squirm with determined energy. Poor Miss Letitia had the very look of panic in her face. She clung to the fierce little creature, not knowing what to do. Miss S'mantha lay back in a fit of hysterics. Tunk advanced bravely, with brows knit, and stood looking down at the baby. "Lord! this is awful!" said he. Then a thought struck him.
Indeed, it seemed as if the fires of hate and envy had burned him out. The two old maids, feeling the disgrace of it and fearing more, ceased to visit their neighbours or even to pass their own gate. Poor Miss S'mantha fell into the deadly mire of hypochondria. She often thought herself very ill and sent abroad for every medicine advertised in the county paper.
Miss S'mantha looked suspicious and walked to the other side of the stove. Impressed by the silence of the room, much exaggerated by the ticking of the clock, Sidney Trove sat a moment looking around him. Daylight had begun to grow dim. The table, with its cover of white linen, was a thing to give one joy.
"Afraid we couldn't," said Miss Letitia, answering for both. "Old Sledge?" She shook her head, smiling. "I don't wish to lead you into recklessness," the teacher remarked, "but I'm sure you wouldn't mind being happy." Miss S'mantha had a startled look. "In in a proper way," he added. "Let's be joyful. Perhaps we could play 'I spy." "Y!" they both exclaimed, laughing silently.
They all listened, hearing a low, weird cry outside the door. "Soun's t' me like a raccoon," Miss S'mantha whispered thoughtfully. "Or a lamb," said Miss Letitia. "Er a painter," Tunk ventured, his ear turning to catch the sound. "Let's open the door," said Sidney Trove, advancing. "Not me," said Tunk, firmly, raising his gun.
"Our tea is ready," said she, presently, advancing to the table. She spoke in a low, gentle tone. "This is grand!" said he, sitting down with them. "I tell you, we'll have fun before I leave here." They looked up at him and then at each other, Letitia laughing silently, S'mantha suspicious. For many years fun had been a thing far from their thought. "Play checkers?" he inquired.
"Never ate chicken pie like that," he added in all sincerity. "If I were a poet, I'd indite an ode 'written after eating some of the excellent chicken pie of the Misses Tower. I'm going to have some like it on my farm." In reaching to help himself he touched the teapot, withdrawing his hand quickly. "Burn ye?" said Miss S'mantha. "Yes; but I like it!" said he, a bit embarrassed.
"I'll git some milk," he shouted, running into the buttery. The baby thrust the cup away, and it fell noisily, the milk streaming over a new rag carpet. "It's sick; I'm sure it's sick," said Miss Letitia, her voice trembling. "S'mantha, can't you do something?" Miss S'mantha calmed herself a little and drew near. "Jes' like a wil'cat," said Tunk, thoughtfully.
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