David," Anna
said as she turned from the dresser with her arms full of plates.
"And did you care, Anna, that I was not here?" He gave her the
appealing glance of a great mastiff who hopes for a friendly pat on the
head.
"My feelings on the subject can be of no interest to you," she answered
with chilling decision.
"All right," and he went to the hat-rack to get his muffler and cap,
preparatory to again facing the storm.
The snow had been falling steadily all day. Drifting almost to the
height of the kitchen window, it whirled about the house and beat
against the window panes with a muffled sound that was inexpressibly
dreary to the girl, who felt herself the center of all this pitiful
human contention.
"David, David; where have you been all day, and where are you going
now?" His mother looked at his gray, haggard face and tried to guess
his hidden trouble, the first he had ever kept from her.
"Mother, I am not a child, and you can't expect me to hang about the
stove like a cat, all my life." It was his first harsh word to her and
she shrank before it as if it had been a blow. David, her boy, to
speak to her like that! She turned quickly away to hide the tears, the
first she had ever shed on his account.
"Here, Anna," she said, struggling to recover her composure, "take this
bucket and get it filled for me, please."
The girl reached for her cloak that hung on a peg near the door.
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