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He cheered up and threw a bit of ham to the waiting dogs. Perhaps Becky wasn't interested. Perhaps, after all, Dalton had been genuine in his interest in the stuffed birds. "Becky's too young for things like that," he began hopefully. But Bob Flippin shook his head. "Girls are queer, Judge, and you never can tell what they're goin' to do next.
By-and-by, fatigue began to assert its claims; the children tried to pay attention, for it was dreadful to think of sitting down when time was grown to be so precious, moving, in some direction, in any direction, was at least progress and might bear fruit; but to sit down was to invite death and shorten its pursuit. At last Becky's frail limbs refused to carry her farther. She sat down.
Porter had made an extravagant cake for Jennifer the week after she had Emma. Driving home from Deweys to North Yarmouth wasn't as easy as walking up the hill to State Street. No five minute walk to Becky's for breakfast, either. On the other hand, he had a good work space in the barn, and it was quiet at night. Oliver counted his blessings. Verdi had made his first patrols and was adjusting.
But, from some cause or other perhaps it was Miss Gertrude's rebellion in treating the outlawed Puddock with special civility that evening, Miss Becky's asperity seemed to acquire edge and venom as time proceeded. But Puddock rallied quickly.
"You can serve supper, Jane," the Admiral told her; "they can eat when they come." When they came, Becky's cheeks were as red as her cape. As she swept within the radius of the candle-light, Archibald Cope, who had risen at her entrance, knew what had happened. Her eyes were like stars. "Did Jane scold about us?" she asked, with a quick catch of her breath; "it was so lovely with the moon."
"Aunt Becky, listen to me!" The woman turned her eyes to the speaker, but her thoughts were far, far away. "I'll come to you, Gawd hearing me; I'll ward off the cold and hunger. I'll come day after day if you'll leave hit where it can't ever know." Suddenly Becky's face grew sharp and cunning; all that was tender and human in her faded self-preservation rose supreme.
Oliver became a lord riding his finest horse, his property, his right. "God," she said an hour later when he woke up again. "Rupert never made love to me like that." "Yumm," Oliver said. He was in a pleasant haze. "I think . . ." She waited. "Yes?" "I think we should have breakfast." "Definitely." "I don't have anything how about Becky's?" Oliver was first in the bathroom.
She seemed to have drunk of some new wine, which lighted her eyes and flamed in her cheeks. Her beauty shone with an almost transcendent quality. As the dove's plumage takes on in the spring an added luster, so did the bronze of Becky's hair seem to burn with a brighter sheen. Yet the Judge noticed nothing.
Don't let me see your brazen face before the Sabbath! Bloomah crept out broken-hearted. On the way to Becky's her feet turned of themselves by long habit down the miry street in which the red-brick school-building rose in dreary importance. The sight of the great iron gate and the hurrying children caused her a throb of guilt. For a moment she stood wrestling with the temptation to enter.
"My dear, my dear," she said, "what a wonderful frock." "Yes," Mary said, "it is. It is one of Becky's, and she gave it to me. And the turquoises are Mrs. Beaufort's." Madge, who knew the whole alphabet of smart costumers, was aware of the sophisticated perfection of that fluff of jade green tulle. The touch of gold at the girdle, the flash of gold for the petticoat.
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