A brief examination of Jerry was sufficient.  The brothers exchanged glances and shakes of the head.  “And to think,” said Theodore, as they regarded the body, “that it was only this morning I said to Armidy there was one tramp too many in the house, meaning me, and now to have my words brought before me like this!  ’Twasn’t anything but a joke, but I hope she won’t remember it against me.”

“Well, first thing we’ve got to do is to get her to the house,” said Lucas.

Armida having been made as comfortable as the present would allow, and Jerry having been brought up and consigned to the best chamber, as befitted his state, Lucas hastened after the doctor and Aunt Polly Slater.  The doctor found Armida in a sad case.  “Though I don’t think,” he assured the brothers, “if she isn’t worried she will be hard sick.  She’s naturally rugged, and it’s merely a simple fracture of the forearm.  The sprained ankle will be the most tedious thing, but I must charge you to keep her in ignorance of her husband’s death.”

Theodore helped Aunt Polly in caring for Armida, and never was woman more tenderly cared for.  Many were the lies he was forced to tell, as Armida was first surprised, then indignant, at Jerry’s apparent neglect.

“Even Lucas has come to the door and looked at me,” she complained, “and Jerry ain’t so much as been near me.”

Theodore was fain to concoct a story about a strained back that would not allow Jerry to rise from the bed.  When it was deemed prudent to tell her, the task fell to Theodore, who was very tender of his sister, remembering that though he considered Jerry a shiftless, poor shack of a creature, Armida probably had affection for him.  She took her loss very quietly.

“He was always good to me,” she said, “and he cared for me when no one else did.”

“You’re wrong there,” Theodore remonstrated.

“I used to tell myself I was,” she replied sadly.  “I knew I give the first offence, but Lucas never would ‘a’ done as he did by the house if he’d cared for me.”

Lucas heard the reproach where he stood out of sight in the little entry that led to Armida’s room, listening to the brother and sister as they talked together within.  He often lingered there, wishing to enter, but not daring to; longing to atone for the unhappiness he had caused his sister, but not knowing how to set about it.  Now, taking Theodore into his confidence, he set to work to obliterate all outward signs that made it “the divided house,” leaving to his brother the task of keeping it from Armida.  As she querulously inquired what all the hammering and pounding that was going on in front of the house meant, Theodore had a story ready about the steps to the front porch being so worn out that Lucas had to have some new ones, “or else break his legs goin’ over them.”  The smell of paint was accounted for by Lucas “havin’ one of his spells of gittin’ his side painted over agin;” on which Armida gave way to tears, until her brother comforted her by saying it didn’t make much difference, a new coat couldn’t make it any whiter than it was.