when she met him, came here after her first husband’s death from some place way out West—oh, Wyoming, or Nevada or Idaho, one of those States, you know—and had never had chick nor child, as the saying goes—till she married Steve. And that woman was every day of forty-four years old when Lucille was born.”
“Uh-huh!… Ah-hah! the younger woman muttered absently, in a tone of rapt and fascinated interest, as she looked distantly at the people in the other group, and reflectively stroked her large chin with a big, bony hand.”So Lucille, then, is really John’s half-sister?"
“Why, of course!” the mother cried. “I thought every one knew that. Lucille’s the only one that this woman can lay claim to. The rest of them were Emma’s.”
“—Well, that’s certainly news to me,” the younger woman said slowly as before. “It’s the first I ever heard of it…. And you say she was forty-four when Lucille was born?”
“Now, she was all of that,” the mother said. “I know. And she may have been even older.”
“Well,” the younger woman said, and now she turned to her silent husband, Barton, with a hoarse snigger, “it just goes to show that while there’s life there’s hope, doesn’t it? So cheer up, honey,” she said to him, “we may have a chance yet.” But despite her air of rough banter her clear eyes for a moment had a look of deep pain and sadness in them.
“Chance!” the mother cried strongly, with a little scornful pucker of the lips—“why, of course there is! If I was your age again I’d have a dozen—and never think a thing of it.” For a moment she was silent, pursing her reflective lips. Suddenly a faint sly smile began to flicker at the edges of her lips, and turning to the boy, she addressed him with an air of sly and bantering mystery:
“Now, boy,” she said—“there’s lots of things that you don’t know… you always thought you were the last—the youngest—didn’t you?”
“Well, wasn’t I?” he said.
“H’m!” she said with a little scornful smile and an air of great mystery—“There’s lots that I could tell you—”
“Oh, my God!” he groaned, turning towards his sister with an imploring face. “More mysteries!… The next thing I’ll find that there were five sets of triplets after I was born—Well, come on, Mama,” he cried impatiently. “Don’t hint around all day about it…. What’s the secret now—how many were there?”
“H’m!” she said with a little bantering, scornful, and significant smile.
“O Lord!” he groaned again—“Did
