The spectacle of her childishness restored to the elder woman that capacity for action which she was never without.
"Get your coat and gloves, child," she said in her harsh tones. "Where's the basket?"
She herself took up the basket, and, without venturing to look at her son or her who sat upon the bed, neither of whom had changed their postures nor spoken again, she led the way out with resolute steps to the top of the stairs. The young girl followed in her wake with a timid obedience, pulling on her cotton gloves over her bleeding fingers as she went.
At the head of the stairs this new resolution of the elder woman's appeared to fail her.
"Go down, child; take the basket. I will follow you in a minute," she said, handing the basket to the girl.
She turned suddenly and went back into the room. Her son was still standing in the attitude in which she had left him. There was a curious glare in his eyes. Advancing to him she placed her hands on his shoulders, pressed her lips against his forehead, and then, in a kind of headlong flight, darted away like a rabbit out of the room and down the stairs.
