.._
Saturday morning she and David watched the hill road from nine o'clock
until stage-time. From the green bench under the poplar, the tavern
porch on Main Street could just be seen; and at a little before twelve
Jonas's lean, shambling nags drew up before it. Mrs. Richie was very
pale. David, fretting at the dullness of the morning, asked her some
question, but She did not hear him, and he pulled at her skirt. "Does
everything grow?"
"Yes, dear, yes; I suppose so."
"How big is everything when it begins to grow?"
"Oh, dear little boy, don't ask so many questions!"
"When you began to grow, how big were you? Were you an inch big?"
"If he has come," she said breathlessly, "the stage will get up here
in fifteen minutes!"
David sighed.
"Oh, why don't they start?" she panted; "what _is_ the matter!"
"It's starting," David said.
"Come, David, hurry!" she cried. "We must be at the gate!" She took
his hand, and ran down the path to the gate in the hedge. As she stood
there, panting, she pressed her fingers hard on her lips; they must
not quiver before the child. She kept her watch in her hand. "It isn't
time yet to see them; it will take Jonas ten minutes to get around to
the foot of the hill."
Overhead the flicker of locust leaves cast checkering lights and
shadows on her white dress and across the strained anxiety of her
face. She kept her eyes on her watch, and the ten minutes passed in
silence.
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