"What are they doing? It can't be they're at work such a day as
this," Howard said, standing at the window.
"They find plenty to do, even on rainy days," answered his mother.
"Grant always has some job to set the men at. It's the only way to
live."
"I'll go out and see them." He turned suddenly. "Mother, why
should Grant treat me so? Have I deserved it?"
Mrs. McLane sighed in pathetic hopelessness. "I don't know,
Howard. I'm worried about Grant. He gets more an' more
downhearted an' gloomy every day. Seem's if he'd go crazy. He
don't care how he looks any more, won't dress up on Sunday. Days
an' days he'll go aroun' not sayin' a word. I was in hopes you could
help him, Howard."
"My coming seems to have had an opposite effect. He hasn't
spoken a word to me, except when he had to, since I came.
Mother, what do you say to going home with me to New York?"
"Oh, I couldn't do that!" she cried in terror. "I couldn't live in a big
city-never!"
"There speaks the truly rural mind," smiled Howard at his mother,
who was looking up at him through her glasses with a pathetic
forlornness which sobered him again. "Why, Mother, you could
live in Orange, New Jersey, or out in Connecticut, and be just as
lonesome as you are here.
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