I've often kept people waiting for the same
reason and," he added grimly, "they didn't always wait
either."
When Tom and the old doctor drove into the yard everything
was silent. The wind had fallen, and the eastern sky was
bright with morning.
The old dog who lay in front of the granary door raised
his head at their approach and lifted one ear, as if to
command silence.
Tom helped the doctor out of the buggy. He tried to
unhitch the horse, but the beating of his heart nearly
choked him--the fear of what might be in the granary. He
waited for the exclamation from the doctor which would
proclaim him a murderer. He heard the door open again--the
doctor was coming to tell him--Tom's knees grew weak--he
held to the horse for support--who was this who had caught
his arm--it was Pearl crying and laughing.
"Tom, Tom, it's all over, and Arthur's going to get
well," she whispered. "Dr. Clay came."
But Pearl was not prepared for what happened.
Tom put his head down upon the horse's neck and cried
like a child--no, like a man--for in the dark and terrible
night that had just passed, sullied though it was by
temptations and yieldings and neglect of duty, the soul
of a man had been born in him, and he had put away childish
things forever.
Dr. Clay was kneeling in front of the box cleaning his
instruments, with his back toward the door, when Dr.
Barner entered. He greeted the older man cordially,
receiving but a curt reply.
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