"
"Frank hire yuh?"
"No. I ain't hired at all. I'm just--_with_ yuh."
"We--need yuh," said Brit grimly, looking Lone straight in the eyes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"FRANK'S DEAD"
"Frank come yet?" The peevish impatience of an invalid whose horizon has
narrowed to his own personal welfare and wants was in Brit's voice. Two
weeks he had been sick, and his temper had not sweetened with the pain
of his broken bones and the enforced idleness. Brit was the type of man
who is never quiet unless he is asleep or too ill to get out of bed.
Lorraine came to the doorway and looked in at him. Two weeks had set
their mark on her also. She seemed older, quieter in her ways; there
were shadows in her eyes and a new seriousness in the set of her mouth.
She had had her burdens, and she had borne them with more patience than
many an older woman would have done, but what she thought of those
burdens she did not say.
"No, dad--but I thought I heard a wagon a little while ago. He must be
coming," she said.
"Where's Lone at?" Brit moved restlessly on the pillow and twisted his
face at the pain.
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