"Ruth! She has never been at home sin' morning. She and Leonard
were to be off for the day somewhere or other with them Bradshaw
girls."
"Then she has had no dinner?"
"Not here, any rate. I can't answer for what she may have done at
other places."
"And Leonard--where is he?"
"How should I know? With his mother, I suppose. Leastways, that
was what was fixed on. I've enough to do of my own, without
routing after other folks."
She went on scouring in no very good temper. Mr. Benson stood
silent for a moment.
"Sally," he said, "I want a cup of tea. Will you make it as soon
as you can; and some dry toast too? I'll come for it in ten
minutes."
Struck by something in his voice, she looked up at him for the
first time.
"What ha' ye been doing to yourself, to look so grim and grey?
Tiring yourself all to tatters, looking after some naught, I'll
be bound! Well! well! I mun make ye your tea, I reckon; but I did
hope as you grew older you'd ha' grown wiser."
Mr. Benson made no reply, but went to look for Leonard, hoping
that the child's presence might bring back to his mother the
power of self-control. He opened the parlour-door, and looked in,
but saw no one. Just as he was shutting it, however, he heard a
deep, broken, sobbing sigh; and, guided by the sound, he found
the boy lying on the floor, fast asleep, but with his features
all swollen and disfigured by passionate crying.
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