He was
surprised to see the visitor, but she did not notice him and he said
nothing to her. The meal passed awkwardly. Luke made an effort to
keep up the conversation with her by asking about his friends in her
neighborhood, but her replies were in a low tone and short, and he
finally gave up the attempt.
Westerfelt rose from the table before any of the others and left the
house. As he turned from the gate to go to the stable, he looked
through the window and saw Mrs. Dawson move her chair to the fire. He
paused and leaned against the fence. The firelight shone in the old
woman's face; it was sad and careworn. Somehow she reminded him of his
mother, as she had looked a short time before she died. He started on
slowly, but came back again to the same spot. Luke wiped his mouth on
the corner of the table-cloth, rose from the table, and went out at the
back door. Westerfelt heard his merry whistle at the barn. Mrs.
Bradley filled a large pan with dishes and took them into the kitchen.
Mrs. Dawson bent over the fire. Something in the curve of her back and
the trembling way she held her hands to the blaze made him think again
of his mother.
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