The shutters were closed in her mother's room.
"Last yeah she stood at the window and waved to me when I rode away," sighed the child, her eyes filling with tears again.

"Now she's so white and ill it makes me cry to look at her.

Maybe that is the trouble this yeah is goin' to bring me.

Betty's mothah died, and Eugenia's, and maybe"-- but the thought was too dreadful to put into words, and she stopped abruptly.
"Mom Beck was right," she whispered with a nod of her head.

"She said that sad thoughts are like crows.