CHAPTER XXIII
ROBIN'S RESCUE
Just as the shrill of the train whistle echoed through the little
valley, Moira Lynch set her lighted lamp in the window. She did not sing
tonight as she performed the customary ceremony, nor had she for many
nights. Her throat seemed too tired, her arms dropped with the weight of
her lamp, a dull little pain at the back of her neck gripped her with a
pulling clutch.
The doctor had told her she was "tired out." She had gone to him very
secretly, lest Dale or big Danny should know and worry. But even to be
"just tired out" was very terrifying to Mother Moira--if her arms and
head and heart failed, who would take care of big Danny and keep a
little home for Dale and watch over Beryl?
With her habitual optimism she tried to laugh away her alarm, but the
pulling ache persisted and her arms trembled under tasks that before had
seemed as nothing. She told herself that it was all her own fault that
her big Danny seemed harder to please, but when, under a particularly
trying moment, she broke down and cried, she knew she was reaching the
end of her endurance.
"Did the train stop?" queried big Danny.
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