Jerome lighted a candle first, for it was growing dark, and went out.
"You go in and stay with mother," he said to Elmira, "an' don't you
go to cryin' an' makin' her worse--she's been faintin' away. Any tea
in the house?"

"No," said the little girl, trying to control her quivering face.

"Make her some hot porridge, then--she'd ought to have something. You
can do that, can't you?"

Elmira nodded; she dared not speak for fear she should cry.

"Go right in, then," said Jerome; and she obeyed, keeping her face
turned away. Her childish back looked like an old woman's as she
entered the door.

Jerome unharnessed the horse, led him into the barn, fed him, and
drew some water for him from the well. When he came out of the barn,
after it was all done, he saw Doctor Prescott's chaise turning into
the yard. The doctor and Jake Noyes were in it. When the chaise
stopped, Jerome went up to it, bobbed his head and scraped his foot.
A handsome, keenly scowling face looked out of the chaise at him.
Doctor Seth Prescott was over fifty, with a smooth-shaven face as
finely cut as a woman's, with bright blue eyes under bushy brows, and
a red scratch-wig. Before years and snows and rough winds had
darkened and seamed his face, he had been a delicately fair man. "Has
he come yet?" he demanded, peremptorily.

Jerome bobbed and scraped again. "No, sir."