He was two times as fat as he was that
night when he was sleeping in the Christmas hay at church.
Mama spoke to all the women, and they spoke, but nobody did
any more talking. They all kept sitting there, quiet. There
wasn't a little chair for me, so Mama crossed her knees and let
me squeeze in on the edge of her rocker.
The old ladies had drawn their chairs close to the hearth,
and there they sat, their hands folded, just looking into the
fire. After I had watched them for a while, I noticed they didn't
even have their snuff-dipping brushes in their mouths. The front
door squeaked.
I looked around. Papa and Doctor Elton and Mister Wes were
coming in from the hall. Papa and the doctor took off their hats,
and after Mister Wes sat down in the chair next to Miss Ophelia,
he pulled his off, too. He held it in his hands, twisting it
round and round, folding and refolding the middle crease.
"Miss Ophelia," he said, "I hate to trouble you at a time
like this, but I reckon I'll have to ask you a little bit about
Ward.
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