ought Aunt Susie a hot-water bottle. But you
mustn't talk too much, Joe." She squeezed his hand very softly.

"Well," he went on, as though intensely interested in the idea, "you
know what he was for Uncle Buzz? Well, next he must put his jinx on
me." He chuckled softly. "His kind always have it in for--my kind. It
is funny. As I went down the road, after leaving your house, you
remember?"

She nodded.

"Well, I soon saw from the road that something had happened. I went
down across the field up to the fence. Things were scattered all over
the ground, and some of 'em floating down the creek--I could see in
the moonlight. 'Serves you right, you old skinflint,' I said to
myself. 'But it's none of your business.' So I turned about and went
back to the road. Couldn't help feeling kinda glad about it." He
paused and drew a deep, painful breath. "I guess it's all just
retribution. Shouldn't have enjoyed a man's misfortune. I missed the
edge of the road, slipped, and fell across the big eight by eight that
ties the bridge to the bank, and that's all I remember. Old Burrus
pulled me out of the creek himself."

He withdrew his hand and moved slightly in the bed, as if easing
himself somewhere. "It _was_ funny, wasn't it?"

She gazed into his face. Something was stirring within her over which
she seemed to have no control--a tenderness, a mothering instinct, a
vast hurt deep within herself. She suddenly realized that she could
have had him, although he had not offered himself. Nor had he ever
asked for anything, probably never would. The realization singularly
made him seem all the more her own. "You mustn't work yourself up,
Joe. Be quiet. I want you to get well." Just how fervently she wished
it, and with what anxiety, she suddenly knew. The sight of his peaked,
upturned face, staring at the ceiling, with the bright red spots on
his cheeks, was more than she could bear, and she rose to her feet and
walked over to the open window.

The sun was just sinking behind a broken bank of heavy, blue-gray
clouds. On the inner surfaces through which streamed its last rays
patches of blood-red lining showed. A lurid glow was thinly suffused
over the stretch of land between, against which were outlined the gray
top branches of trees, moving fitfully to and fro. She stood for a few
moments, waiting, listening for Mrs. Mosby. The shadows deepened and
lengthened; they came creeping over the grass toward her, in their van
the fading glow