Mrs. Wheeler opened the stair door, and Mahailey dodged back to the stove.
After breakfast Dan went out to the fields with the harvesters. Ralph and Claude and Mr. Wheeler were busy with the car all morning.
Mrs. Wheeler kept throwing her apron over her head and going down the hill to see what they were doing. Whether there was really something the matter with the engine, or whether the men merely made it a pretext for being together and keeping away from the house, she did not know. She felt that her presence was not much desired, and at last she went upstairs and resignedly watched them from the sitting-room window. Presently she heard Ralph run up to the third storey. When he came down with Claude’s bags in his hands, he stuck his head in at the door and shouted cheerfully to his mother:
“No hurry. I’m just taking them down so they’ll be ready.”
Mrs. Wheeler ran after him, calling faintly, “Wait, Ralph! Are you sure he’s got everything in? I didn’t hear him packing.”
“Everything ready. He says he won’t have to go upstairs again. He’ll be along pretty soon. There’s lots of time.” Ralph shot down through the basement.
Mrs. Wheeler sat down in her reading chair. They wanted to keep her away, and it was a little selfish of them. Why couldn’t they spend these last hours quietly in the house, instead of dashing in and out to frighten her. Now she could hear the hot water running in the kitchen; probably Mr. Wheeler had come in to wash his hands. She felt really too weak to get up and go to the west window to see if he were still down at the garage. Waiting was now a matter of seconds, and her breath came short enough as it was.
