But it was forced merriment on Will's part. Once in a while Agnes
smiled with just a little flash of the old-time sunny temper. But
there was no dimple in the cheek now, and the smile had more
suggestion of an invalid~r even a skeleton. He was almost ready to
take her in his arms and weep, her face appealed so pitifully to
him.
"It's most time f'r Ed to be gittin' back, ain't it' Pa?"
"Sh'd say 'twas! He jist went over to Hobkirk's to trade horses. It's
dretful tryin' to me to have him go off tradin' horses on Sunday.
Seems if he might wait till a rainy day, 'r do it evenin's. I never did
believe in horse tradin' anyhow."
"Have y' come back to stay, Willie?" asked the old lady.
"Well-it's hard-tellin'," answered Will, looking at Agnes.
"Well, Agnes, ain't you goin' to get no dinner? I'm 'bout ready fr
dinner. We must git to church eariy today. Elder Wheat is goin' to
preach an' they'll be a crowd. He's goin' to hold communion."
"You'll stay to dinner, Will?" asked Agnes.
"Yes-if you wish it."
"I do wish it."
"Thank you; I want to have a good visit with you. I don't know
when I'll see you again."
As she moved about, getting dinner on the table, Will sat with
gloomy face, listening to the "clack" of the old man.
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