Three hundred persons heard the sobbing cry she
gave, and the flames flung off stars and arrows for more than one
pair of sympathetic eyes. But she neither knew nor cared. She knew
only that Bert's arms and the boys' arms were about her, and that
Anne's thin little cheek was against her hair, and that her hungry
lips were devouring the baby's sweet, bewildered face. She was
crying as if there could be no end to her tears, crying happily
and trying to laugh as she cried, and as she let the waves of
relief and joy sweep over her in a reviving flood.
Bert was in his shirt sleeves, and Priscilla still had on only the
short embroidered petticoat that she wore while she slept; her
small feet were bare. The boys were grimed with ashes and soot,
and Anne was pale and speechless with fright. But they were all
together, father, mother, and children, and that was all that
mattered in the world--all that would ever count, for Nancy,
again.
"Don't cry, dearest!" said Bert, the tears streaming down his own
blackened face. "She's all right, dear! We're all here, safe and
sound, we're all right!"
But Nancy cried on, her arms strained about them all, her wet face
against her husband's, and his arm tight across her shoulder.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150