"
But late that night, when Martha Norris returned home, another
storm broke above her hapless head. Old Billy sat on the kitchen
steps waiting for her, frowning, scowling, muttering. "Where have
you been?" he demanded, glaring at her, although some inner
instinct told him what her answer would be.
"I've been to Sammy's," she said, in a peculiarly still voice, "and
I'm going again to-morrow." Then with shoulders more erect and eyes
calmer than they had been for many months, she continued: "And I'm
going again the next day, and the next. Billy, you and I've got a
grandson--a splendid, fair, strong boy, and--"
"What!" snapped old Billy. "A grandson! I got a grandson, an' no
person told me afore? Not even that there sneak Sam, cuss him! He
always was too consarned mean to live. A grandson? I'm a-goin' over
termorrer, sure's I'm alive."
"No use for you to go, Billy," said Mrs. Norris, with marvellous
diplomacy for such a simple, unworldly farmer's wife to suddenly
acquire. "Sammy wouldn't let you set foot on his place. He wouldn't
let you put an eye or a finger on that precious baby--not for the
whole earth."
"What! Not _me_, the little chap's _grandfather_?" blurted old
Billy in a rage.
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