Pete said his dawg done howl all night last night, an' I've dremp three times hand runnin' 'bout muddy watah." Mom Beck felt a little hand clutch her skirts, and turned to see a frightened little face looking anxiously up at her.
"Now, what's the mattah with you, honey ?" she asked.

"I'm only a-tellin' Mistah Fostah about some silly old signs my mammy used to believe in.
But they don't mean nothin' at all." Lloyd couldn't have told why she was unhappy.

She had not understood all that Mom Beck had said, but her sensitive little mind was shadowed by a foreboding of trouble.
The shadow deepened as the days passed.

Papa Jack got worse instead of better.

There were times when he did not recognize any one, and talked wildly of things that had happened out at the mines.
All the long, beautiful October went by, and still he lay in the darkened room.