"
She roused herself from her apathetic musing. "The train--what train?"
Mr. Royall, without answering, let the horse jog on till they reached
the door of the first house in the village. "This is old Mrs. Hobart's
place," he said. "She'll give us something hot to drink."
Charity, half unconsciously, found herself getting out of the buggy and
following him in at the open door. They entered a decent kitchen with a
fire crackling in the stove. An old woman with a kindly face was setting
out cups and saucers on the table. She looked up and nodded as they
came in, and Mr. Royall advanced to the stove, clapping his numb hands
together.
"Well, Mrs. Hobart, you got any breakfast for this young lady? You can
see she's cold and hungry."
Mrs. Hobart smiled on Charity and took a tin coffee-pot from the fire.
"My, you do look pretty mean," she said compassionately.
Charity reddened, and sat down at the table. A feeling of complete
passiveness had once more come over her, and she was conscious only of
the pleasant animal sensations of warmth and rest.
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