arms, and every tiny toe and finger was kissed and crooned over,
while Sam shyly winked at Della and managed to whisper, "You'll
see, girl, that dad will come around now; but he can just keep out
of _our house_. There are two of us that can be harsh. I'm not
going to come at _his_ first whistle."

Della smiled to herself, but said nothing. Much wisdom had come to
her within the last year, with the last day--wisdom not acquired
within the covers of books, nor yet beneath college roofs, and one
truth she had mastered long ago--that

"To help and to heal a sorrow
Love and silence are always best."

But late that night, when Martha Norris returned home, another
storm broke above her hapless head. Old Billy sat on the kitchen
steps waiting for her, frowning, scowling, muttering. "Where have
you been?" he demanded, glaring at her, although some inner
instinct told him what her answer would be.

"I've been to Sammy's," she said, in a peculiarly still voice, "and
I'm going again to-morrow." Then with shoulders more erect and eyes
calmer than they had been for many months, she continued: "And I'm
going again the next day, and the next. Billy, you and I've got a
grandson--a splendid, fair, strong boy, and--"

"What!" snapped old Billy. "A grandson! I got a grandson, an' no
person told me afore? Not even that there sneak Sam, cuss him! He
always was too consarned mean to live. A grandson? I'm a-goin' over
termorrer, sure's I'm alive."