Page:To-morrow Morning (1927).pdf/257

 They had all been so excited when it was printed. They had had cream puffs from the Vienna Bakery for supper, to celebrate.

Where is my little lost boy?

Well, it was peaceful at home, now, anyway. Evelyn didn't make a restful atmosphere. She was either quivering with life or silent and depressed. But she had made meal times exciting—almost terrifying. Kate never knew when she was going to talk about her baby, right in front of Joe, or swear. What did Aunt Sarah think? But, after all, did Aunt Sarah think of anything any more, except food and warmth? Then Evelyn might drop into French at any moment. Kate hadn't meant to tell a story, but, somehow, just at first, she had let Evelyn get the impression that French or English, it was all one to her, and she had had miserable moments since. It sometimes seemed to her that Evelyn must have guessed

Now they sat through meals, Aunt Sarah never speaking, lifting her cup with both trembling old hands, sucking in her tea, a tepid trickle of talk flowing from Carrie.

Kate had her own room again. But it was haunted. Something quivered in the air.

She heard the roar outside that meant Joe and the Ford had come home, and put on her hat. The last book was in place; the fresh sweet room waited for Joe's and Evelyn's appreciation. She went out of the