threw her floury apron over her head, and began loudly to weep.
"Oh, oh, I can't bear it!" she wailed, and she sat down on the bottom step of the backstairs.
Pearl ran to her and tried to draw the apron from her head.
"Oh, cook, whatever is the matter?" she cried.
Mrs. Bye's head could be seen rolling from side to side under the apron. Her two hands, with little worms of dough clinging to them, were wrung together.
"I can't bear it—" she repeated.
"Don't you go worryin' yourself," consoled Davy. "I'd ha' never told you if I'd thought you'd take on so."
Charley, too, spoke soothingly: "There's other rabbits where he come from, woife. Not but what I grant ye that there's none equal to him in edication."
"I can't bear it," came from under the apron, and a scream followed.
"For pity's sake get the doctor," said Pearl.
The two men merely stared stupidly, but Bastien who had been passing the door threw it open and strode over to Mrs. Bye.
"What's the matter?" he demanded.
"She's been took badly," explained Pearl, white and trembling. "Davy told her of a mean trick someone did and she flew right off the handle."
Bastien resolutely uncovered Mrs. Bye's head and looked down into her face. It was dusted with flour from the apron, and little runnels of tears through the flour made a strange, patchwork effect. She seemed to have no pride left, but sat with her poor face exposed to the gaze of all, her mouth sagging, her eyes staring disconsolately before her. She was quiet now.
