she worked. The boy said nothing. He seemed to be
looking out of the open window into the orchard; instead, through his
lowered eyelashes, he followed his mother's movements about the room
as she set the small table for three, still humming as she worked. The
boy saw that she stopped often to cough. This was not unusual, but once
the cough became so strong that it left her face colorless. Uneasily
sympathetic, he noted that after this she did not hum again. Whenever
she looked his way, the boy turned his head, not so soon but that he
could see and feel the half-fearful appeal that darkened her eyes.

After the glasses had been filled, the three drew up to the table. The
dinner was eaten in silence. The eyes of the boy constantly returned to
his mother's face. Somehow she seemed different to-day. He wished that
she didn't wear that black dress, it made her face look too white and
her eyes too large and bright. He ate rapidly. Why didn't his father and
mother talk? They used to tease him about one of the neighbor girls. But
they had not for a long time now. He wondered why. Why didn't they say
something? It was too still.

As soon as he had finished his meal, he drank the water left in his
glass and pushed back his chair. His mother looked quickly at his
father. The boy watched them closely and uneasily. Both seemed to be
shrinking from something. His father carefully folded and unfolded his
newspaper. Then he laid it beside his plate and cleared his throat. He
turned in his chair.

"Wait a minute, Frank," he spoke with hesitation.

The boy turned, looked at his father a moment, and then sat down.

"I don't think we'll cultivate this afternoon, Frank," his father
commenced slowly.

"Why--" The boy started to speak but stopped. He saw the frightened
grayness return to his mother's face. His father, too, seemed restless.
He crossed and recrossed his knees nervously.

"Well, Frank," he continued, "it's this way. Your Ma ain't been feelin'
well for quite a while and we rode over to the doctor's this morning to
see what was the matter."

His mother had gone back of his chair. He could feel her hand on his
shoulders. He turned half-round, his hands grasping the chair tightly.

"You mustn't be scared, Frank--the doctor said it wasn't so very bad."

He could feel her twining his hair about her fingers.

He turned, faced his mother silently, half afraid, as though some grim
barrier stood between them. He saw fine lines