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"On a golden, Indian summer day like this," she finished and closed her eyes as his arms went about her. Billy drew in his breath hard. He fully intended that none of those straining ears should miss his answer. Suddenly it had come to him that it was an easy question to answer; there could in fact be but one answer to it. "A little.".
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"Yep," he replied, "we saw that steer, too. We've been waitin' here, hopin' we'd hear your whistle. I wonder what time it's gettin' to be?" Some thought whilst eating with his father had occurred to him, and he felt in his pocket for the copy of the letter which he had drawn out with his pocket-handkerchief and which Mr Greyquill had got possession of. The handkerchief was there, but the letter was not. When he had drawn out his handkerchief and felt and found the lining of his pocket bare, when, in short, he completely understood that the letter was not where it ought to be and where he knew it should be, he turned as pale as the muslin curtain that partly veiled his[Pg 151] window, started with an abrupt swagger of motion as though he had been struck violently behind, then with the energy of madness felt in all his pockets, pulling out everything, meanwhile gazing around the room with eyes which seemed on fire with their vigour of scrutiny and passion of fear. She set the bowls down on the little table beside the bed, placed the lamp beside them, then leaning over tucked the blankets about the boys. "She didn't seem as if she even saw me, your honour.".
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