Mr. Fleming made no show of grief, like one who nursed it. He took it to all appearance as patiently as an old worn horse would do, although such an outward submissiveness will not always indicate a placid spirit in men. He talked at stale intervals of the weather and the state of the ground along the line of rail down home, and pointed in contempt or approval to a field here and there; but it was as one who no longer had any professional interest in the tilling of the land.
Doubtless he was trained to have no understanding of a good to be derived by his communicating what he felt and getting sympathy. Once, when he was uncertain, and a secret pride in Dahlias beauty and accomplishments had whispered to him that her flight was possibly the opening of her road to a higher fortune, he made a noise for comfort, believing in his heart that she was still to be forgiven. He knew better now. By holding his peace he locked out the sense of shame which speech would have stirred within him.
Got on pretty smooth with old Mas Gammon? he expressed his hope; and Robert said, Capitally. We shall make something out of the old man yet, never fear.
Master Gammon was condemned to serve at the ready-set tea-table as a butt for banter; otherwise it was apprehended well that Mrs. Sumfit would have scorched the ears of all present, save the happy veteran of the furrows, with repetitions of Dahlias name, and wailings about her darling, of whom no one spoke. They suffered from her in spite of every precaution.
Well, then, if Im not to hear anything dooring mealsas if Id swallow it and take it into my stomach!Ill wait again for what yeve got to tell, she said, and finished her cup at a gulp, smoothing her apron.
The farmer then lifted his head.
Mother, if youve done, youll oblige me by going to bed, he said. We want the kitchen.
A-bed? cried Mrs. Sumfit, with instantly ruffled lap.
Upstairs, mother; when youve donenot before.
Then bads the noos! Something have happened, William. You m not going to push me out? And my place is by the tea-pot, which I cling to, rememberin how I seen her curly head grow by inches up above the table and the cups. Mas Gammon, she appealed to the sturdy feeder, five cups is your number?
Her hope was reduced to the prolonging of the service of tea, with Master Gammons kind assistance.
Four, marm, said her inveterate antagonist, as he finished that amount, and consequently put the spoon in his cup.
Mrs. Sumfit rolled in her chair.
O Lord, Mas Gammon! Five, I say; and never a cup less so long as here youve been.
Four, marm. I dont know, said Master Gammon, with a slow nod of his head, that ever I took five cups of tea at a stretch. Not runnin.
I do know, Mas Gammon. And ought to: for dont I pour out to ye? Its five you take, and please, your cup, if youll hand it over.
Fours my number, marm, Master Gammon reiterated resolutely. He sat like a rock.
If they was dumplins, moaned Mrs. Sumfit, not four, no, nor five, d do till enough youd had, and here we might stick to our chairs, but youd go on and on; you know you would.