tired, and in her eyes she seemed to be afraid of him. Her face was full of little lines he had never seen before; they were as small as the lines in her mended best teacup. She put out her arms towards him and made in odd, kind noise. “Where’s Daddy?” he shouted imperiously ignoring her arms. “Daddy-isn’t here yet,” she told him, in a voice like hot ashes, and her arms sank down along the sheet.
“Where is he, then!” he demanded, in angry disappointment, but she thrust through these words with her own: “Go wake-little Catherine and bring her straight here,” she said in a voice which puzzled him; “there’s something I must tell you both together.”
He was darting his eyes everywhere for clues of his father. clothes? watch? tobacco? nightshirt? “Right away,” she said, in a desperate voice.
Startled by its mysterious rebuke, and uneasy in his stomach because she had said “little Catherine,” he hurried out-and all but collided with his Aunt Hannah. Her mouth was strong and tightly pressed together beneath her glittering spectacles as she stooped, peering forward.
“Hello, Aunt Hannah,” he called with astonishment, as he sped around and past her; he saw her go into the bedroom, her hair sticking out from her thin neck in two twiggy braids; he hurried to Catherine’s crib.
“Wake up, Catherine!” he yelled, “Mama says wake up! Right away!”
“Stobbit,” she bawled, her round, red face glaring.
“Well Mama said so, Mama said so, wake up!”
And a few moments later he hurried back ahead of her and hollered breathlessly, “She’s coming!” and she trailed in, two-thirds asleep, snuffling with anger, her lower lip stuck out.
“Take off that cap!” his Aunt Hannah snapped with frightening sternness, and his hands only just caught it
