Chapter XXVI

In terrible loneliness the day dragged by. The blood of her being seemed sluggish in her veins. She could not eat her luncheon. She thought of going to see Mrs. Cavanaugh, but she did not know where the contractor lived, and, as Mrs. Cavanaugh was still in bed with illness, a call would be out of place. Besides, she was sure, even if she went, that she would not be able to broach a matter of such undoubted delicacy, and, unless she mentioned it, how could Mrs. Cavanaugh allude to it? Tilly felt, too, that when John came she would not be able to mention it to him, for had he not kept from her even the fact of his mother's visit to him at his work the day before?

It was growing dark when he came. She had not lighted the gas, because she feared that he might too plainly see her face and read its new lines, shadows, and shrinkings, and he came into the hall, his dinner-pail in hand, as she stood waiting for him in the parlor. She essayed a cheerful greeting, but the words stuck in her tight throat and she went into his arms without uttering them.

"So, so, little mouse," he said, in a forced tone of cheerfulness, "here you are in your dark little hole. Let me light up. I'm dead tired. We all had to put our shoulders to it to-day and lift some big stones and place them right. Our derrick broke twice."

He went to the kitchen. She heard him fumbling about for some matches. Then he came back, striking the matches and lighting the jets in dining-room, sitting-room, and hall.

"You are hungry," she said. "Supper is ready, all but taking it up."

"Well, yes, I guess I am," he said. "Gee! little girl, it is fine to have a place to come to like this." He caught her in his arms and kissed her tenderly. "In a snug place like this a man can throw off his troubles easier than anywhere else. Sam calls it 'a cottage of delight,' and that's what it is."

"Troubles?" she repeated, stealing a look into his face. "Have you troubles, my darling?"

She thought that he avoided her direct gaze, and she was sure that she felt him start slightly, and that his immediate kiss was somewhat more mechanical than usual.

"Oh, every fellow in my business has more or less worries," he parried, awkwardly. "You see, a good deal depends on my judgment, and now and then Sam and I disagree on little details of construction, and we have to argue it out to a finish."

"Have you had any disagreement to-day?" Tilly was probing him desperately, knowing well that the subject had naught to do with the weight on her breast and his.

"Oh no, not to-day," he said, lightly. "Don't be alarmed. Sam and I work all right together. He's always talking about me and him going into partnership. He wants to tie me here, you see; but I don't know. The world is wide, and I could make a living anywhere."

They finished their supper and went to sit on the porch, where the air circulated better than in the house. "I had a caller to-day," she suddenly announced.

"What, a--a-- You say you had a--" He broke off, and then finished in a breath of seeming relief. "Oh, Mrs. Cavanaugh! Sam said she would soon be up; but from what he said I thought she'd be in bed for another week at least."

"It wasn't Mrs. Cavanaugh." Tilly's hand was in his and she felt his calloused fingers twitch and remain tense while he waited for her to finish. "It was the little girl from your house."

His fingers shook. He stared at her through the twilight. She saw his lips move as if for utterance, but no sound came forth. It was an awkward moment for them both.

"Oh, so she came!" John finally got out. "I thought she was too backward to--to go anywhere."

"She was timid at first," Tilly said, choking down the despair that seemed to rise in her throat like a fluid; "but I gave her some cake and made her feel at home the best I could."

There was another turgid pause. John managed to break it, inexpert though he was in the verbal finesse he was evidently trying to use.

"She is a queer little imp," he said. "Don't you think so?"

"Yes, very, very strange, for a child of her age. I think she liked me pretty well, and--and I did her. She ought to be taught. Can she read or write? I didn't think to ask her."

"She doesn't know B from a bull's track." John tried to smile, as he forced a laugh. "Yes, she ought to be taught, I guess." He was silent for a moment, and then he resumed: "What did she have to say? She can talk a regular blue streak at times, and I am wondering--wondering--"

"She told me all about the doll and doll-things you sent her," Tilly answered, resorting to subterfuge with no little skill. "Let a child like that start to talk about her playthings and she will run on all day. She didn't stay very long. She said she had work to do at home."

From the sudden change of his face, Tilly comprehended the relief that must have swept through him at that moment. He glanced toward the center of the town where a cluster of lights threw a glow on the sky. "There is a show under a tent on Main Street to-night," he said. "It may not be much good, but it is something to go to. Suppose we walk over? It isn't very far. When it is out we can stop at Tilman's ice-cream and soda-water parlor and take something cool."

"No"--Tilly shook her head--"let's stay at home."

"But why? Listen! That's them now!" There was a sound of a brass band playing in the direction of the lights, the blare of horns, and the beating of drums. "They always play outside the tent to draw a crowd. Why don't you want to go, little girl?"

"You said you were tired."

"Who, me? Good gracious! Now that I've had my supper I feel like a fighting-cock. We'd better go. You are staying in too close, anyway."