Joe Atkins, and Sargent, and two other men were sitting out there in the cool of the evening.

Ellen hurried around the curve of the foot-path to the kitchen door.

Abby was in there, working with the swift precision of a machine.

She washed and wiped dishes as if in a sort of fury, her thin elbows jerking, her mouth compressed.
When Ellen entered, Abby stared, then her whole face lighted up, as if from some internal lamp.

"Why, Ellen, is that you ?" she said, in a surprisingly sweet voice.