"Angy!" he called, a fear of he knew not what gripping at his heart.
"Angy!" he repeated as she did not answer.

The little old wife had locked herself in out of very shame of the rare
tears which had been brought to the surface by the sisters' cruel
treatment of Abraham. When she heard his call she hastened to the blue
wash-basin and began hurriedly to dab her eyes. He would be alarmed if
he saw the traces of her weeping. Whatever had happened to him, for his
sake she must face it valiantly. He called again. Again she did not
answer, knowing that her voice would be full of the telltale tears. Abe
waited. He heard the tramp of feet passing out of the dining-room into
the hall. He heard Blossy emerge from her room at the end of the passage
and go tripping down the stairs. The time to Angy, guiltily bathing her
face, was short; the time to her anxious husband unaccountably long.
The sound of wheels driving up to the front door came to Abe's ears.
Still Angy made him no response.

"Angy!" he raised his voice in piteous pleading. What mattered if the
sisters gathered in the lower hall heard him? What mattered if the
chance guest who had just arrived heard him also? He had his peace to
make with his wife and he would make it. "Angy!"

She flung the door open hastily. The signs of the tears had not been
obliterated, and her face was drawn and old. Straightway she put her
hand on his arm and searched his face inquiringly.

"What did the gals say ter yew?" she whispered. "Abe, yew made a mistake
when yew picked out Bl--"

"Poor leetle Mother!" he interrupted. "Poor leetle Mother!" a world of