Harmon would take my head off
if she heard me say so. I always liked Lige. But I must say I'm
amazed, too, after the way Sara used to rail at him."
"Well, we might have expected it," said Mrs. Eben sagely. "It
was always Sara's way. When any creature got sick or unfortunate
she seemed to take it right into her heart. So you may say Lige
Baxter's failure was a success after all."
X. THE SON OF HIS MOTHER
Thyra Carewe was waiting for Chester to come home. She sat by the
west window of the kitchen, looking out into the gathering of the
shadows with the expectant immovability that characterized her.
She never twitched or fidgeted. Into whatever she did she put
the whole force of her nature. If it was sitting still, she sat
still.
"A stone image would be twitchedly beside Thyra," said Mrs.
Cynthia White, her neighbor across the lane. "It gets on my
nerves, the way she sits at that window sometimes, with no more
motion than a statue and her great eyes burning down the lane.
When I read the commandment, 'Thou shalt have no other gods
before me,' I declare I always think of Thyra. She worships that
son of hers far ahead of her Creator. She'll be punished for it
yet."
Mrs. White was watching Thyra now, knitting furiously, as she
watched, in order to lose no time. Thyra's hands were folded
idly in her lap. She had not moved a muscle since she sat down.
Mrs. White complained it gave her the weeps.
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