Lizzie, coming in from clearing the lunch table, pointed at Jodie, stomach down on the rug, crayoning the pictures in a volume of Chatterbox, and mouthed silently: "Ask him."
"Jodie, do you know how these buds got broken off?"
Never was anyone so small, so flat, so absorbedly busy.
"Jodie! Mother's speaking to you! Do you know who broke these buds on mother's lemon tree?"
Jodie put his head down on his arm, and scribbled with the vermilion crayon until it broke. "Pussy," he said in a muffled voice.
Kate went through the afternoon with a heart like a stone. Oh, Joe, I've failed you, she thought. I've let our little boy turn into a liar. Oh, if you were only here to tell me what to do! She could hardly eat any supper; she kissed Jodie good night with a tragic face.
At nine o'clock, as she sat working on one of the green linen frames, heart shaped and decorated with water-color roses and raised gold squiggles, that Mrs. Martine had ordered for Christmas, a small shaky voice called from the top of the stairs.
"Mother" And then in growing panic: "Mother! Mother!"
She ran up to him.
"Mother! Mother!"
"Here I am, darling! Where's mother! Don't cry so, my precious! Tell mother what's the matter."
