His air was not that of a man
acting unconsciously.
Absorbed in her grief, and troubled with thoughts of her sister's
oprhaned children, Mrs. Lovell did not, at first, regard the opening
of her husband's shop as anything unusual. But, the truth flashing
across her mind, she went in where Lovell stood at his old place by
the cutting-board, on which was laid a side of morocco, and said,--
"Why, Andy! I thought you had shut up the shop for good and all."
"I thought so last night, but I've changed my mind," was the
low-spoken but decided answer.
"Changed your mind! Why?"
"I don't know what you may think about it, Sally; but my mind's made
up." And Andy squared round, and looked steadily into his wife's
face. "There's just one thing we've got to do; and it's no use
trying to run away from it. That letter didn't come for nothing. The
fact is, Sally, them children mustn't be separated. I've been
thinking about it all night, and it hurts me dreadfully."
"How can we help it? Mary's dead, and her husband's relations have
divided the children round. I've no doubt they will be well cared
for," said Mrs. Lovell.
She had been thinking as well as her husband, but not to so clear a
result.
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