Ephraim’s face had a curious bluish cast, as if his blood were the color of the juice of a grape.  His chest heaved shortly and heavily.  The village doctor had told is mother that he had heart-disease, which might prove fatal, although there was a chance of his outgrowing it, and Deborah had set her face against that.

Ephraim’s face, in spite of its sickly hue, had a perfect healthiness and naturalness of expression, which insensibly gave confidence to his friends, although it aroused their irritation.  A spirit of boyish rebellion and importance looked out of Ephraim’s black eyes; his mouth was demure with mischief, his gawky figure perpetually uneasy and twisting, as if to find entrance into small forbidden places.  There was something in Ephraim’s face, when she looked suddenly at him, which continually led his mother to infer that he had been transgressing.  “What have you been doin’, Ephraim?” she would call out, sharply, many a time, with no just grounds for suspicion, and be utterly routed by Ephraim’s innocent, wondering grin in response.

The boy was set about with restrictions which made his life miserable, but the labor of picking over plums for a cake was quite to his taste.  He dearly loved plums, although they were especially prohibited.  He rolled one quietly under his tongue, and watched Rebecca with sharp eyes.  She could scarcely keep her face turned away from him and her mother too.

“Say, mother, Rebecca’s been cryin’!” Ephraim announced, suddenly.

Deborah turned and looked at Rebecca’s face bending lower over the wooden bowl; her black lashes rested on red circles, and her lips were swollen.

“I’d like to know what you’ve been cryin’ about,” said Deborah.  It was odd that she did not think that Rebecca’s grief might be due to the worry over Barney; but she did not for a minute.  She directly attributed it to some personal and strictly selfish consideration which should arouse her animosity.

“Nothing,” said Rebecca, with sulky misery.

“Yes, you’ve been cryin’ about something, too.  I want to know what ’tis.”

“Nothing.  I wish you wouldn’t, mother.”

“Did you see William Berry over to the store?”

“I told you I did once.”

“Well, you needn’t bite my head off.  Did he say anything to you?”

“He weighed out the sugar.  I know one thing:  I’ll never set my foot inside that store again as long as I live!”

“I’d like to know what you mean, Rebecca Thayer.”

“I ain’t going to have folks think I’m running after William Berry.”

“I’d like to know who thinks you are.  If it’s Hannah Berry, she needn’t talk, after the way her daughter has chased over here.  Mebbe it’s all you Rose Berry has been to see, but I’ve had my doubts.  What did Hannah Berry say to you?”

“She didn’t say anything.  I haven’t seen her.”

“What was it, then?”

But Rebecca would not tell her mother what the trouble had been; she could not bring herself to reveal how William had been urged to walk home with her and how coldly he had refused, and finally Deborah, in spite of baffled interest, turned upon her.  “Well, I hope you didn’t do anything unbecoming,” said she.