She murmured something in remonstrance, but flooded with gratefulness
for the very thing she tried to protest against. And then even that was
struck out. She had brought about this quarrel, this feeling, between
the two brothers. Ted's antagonism against Cyrus, comforting to her,
might work harm to Ted. Those were the things she did. That was what
came through her.

The comfort, communion, peace of a few minutes before seemed a mockery.
Out of her great longing she had deluded herself. Now she was cast back;
now she knew. It was as if she had only been called out in order to be
struck back. And it seemed that Ted, whom she had just found again, she
must either lose or harm. And the shame of it!--children not coming
together under their father's roof when he was dying! Even death could
not break the bitterness down. It made her know just how it was--just
where she stood. And she thought of the town's new talk because of this.

"It's pretty bad, isn't it, Ted?" she said finally, looking up to him
with heavy eyes.

Ted flushed. "Cy makes it worse than it need be," he muttered.

"But it is pretty bad, isn't it?" she repeated in a voice there was
little life in. "It was about as bad as it could be for you all, wasn't
it?"

"Well, Ruth," he began diffidently, "of course--of course this house
hasn't been a very cheerful place since you went away."

"No," she murmured, "of course not." She sat there dwelling upon that,
forming a new picture of just what it had been. "It really made a big
difference, did it, Ted?--even for you?" She asked it very simply, as
one asking a thing in order to know the truth.

Ted sat down on the bed. He was shuffling his feet a little,
embarrassed, but his face was finely serious, as if this were a grave
thing of which it was right they talk.

"Of course I was a good deal of a kid, Ruth," he began. "And yet--" He
halted, held by kindness.

"Yes?" she pressed, as if wanting to get him past kindness.

"Well, yes, Ruth, it was--rather bad. I minded on account of the
fellows, you see. I knew they were talking and--" Again he stopped; his
face had reddened. Her face too colored up at that.

"And then of course home--you know it had always been so jolly here at
home--was a pretty different place, Ruth," he took it up gently. "With
Cy charging around, and mother and father so--different."

"And they were different, were they, Ted?" she asked quietly.

He looked at her in surprise. "Why, ye