He took a chair beside her and they watched the lightning play above the black jumble of hills to the east. Sally uttered hardly a syllable. When she spoke at all, the words came jerkily. Lafe leaned over once to brush some sparks of his cigarette from his coat. A delicate perfume reached him. "The river," he said, clearing his throat, "the river'll be way up. Bridge is like to go out." "I'm afraid so. Oh, dear! Tom promised he'd come home to-night, too." "Come home to-night? Why, it's thirty miles." "I know it. But he's never failed to keep his word yet," she said. "He won't come home to-night." A writhing fork of lightning leaped from east to north. There was no thunder. They sat tensely quiet and the rain dripped sadly from the roof. "No, he won't come home to-night," he said in a hoarse voice. "He can't." "Sally!" he breathed, bending toward her. "Sally!" CHAPTER III CONCERNING A BABY'S WAIL He was gripping both her hands and she had not moved. Her lips were open, but she seemed powerless to speak. A loud thump startled the pair. A shrill wail from the bedroom and Mrs. Floyd sprang up. The baby had fallen from the bed and was now engaged in howling himself purple in the face. Mrs. Floyd swooped down on him in a tremor, and gathering him in her arms, went all over his sturdy body with speed and precision, to ascertain in just how many places bones were broken. "Lafe," she cried, "he's bumped his head. Oh, just look at this lump! My own precious darling! Lafe, get the witch-hazel! Quick! No, no! In the bathroom, on the window sill. Oh, he's holding his breath! Baby! Baby!" She shook Tommy until he was forced to release the air in his lungs, which he let go with a tearing yell. Johnson brought the bottle and stood awkwardly holding it, while she applied some of the contents to a red spot on the baby's forehead. Sally sat in a chair, rocking back and forward, with her lips against her child's neck and her arms holding him close. Little Tom clutched her tightly and gradually his cries and sobs ceased. Lafe tiptoed to the door. He remained there a few minutes to watch, leaning against the jamb. But Sally did not appear to notice him as she crooned to the baby, who was sinking to sleep. Johnson was standing at the edge of the steps, staring into the blackness, when she came out. He threw away his cigarette on hearing her call his name. "Just look at that dark, Sally, will you?" he said. "It beats all." At the tone of his voice, she cried: "Oh, Lafe, Lafe! I'm so glad!" Mrs. Floyd did not specify why she was glad, nor did Johnson ask her. She gave him both hands without hesitation, and they stood smiling at each other in comradely fashion in the half-light from the hall. When he spoke, it was to his childhood's playmate. "Huh-huh!" she agreed. "Let's sit down and talk over old times. Do you remember, Lafe, the grass fights we used to have? You were an awful cheat."