The Dark Star

The mother, shading the candle with her work-worn hand, looked down at

the child in silence. The subdued light fell on a freckled cheek where

dark lashes rested, on a slim neck and thin shoulders framed by a mass

of short, curly chestnut hair.

Though it was still dark, the mill whistle was blowing for six

o'clock. Like a goblin horn it sounded ominously through Ruhannah's

dream. She stirred in her sleep; her mother stole across the room,

closed the window, and went away carrying the candle with her.

At seven the whistle blew again; the child turned over and unclosed

her eyes. A brassy light glimmered between leafless apple branches

outside her window. Through the frosty radiance of sunrise a blue jay

screamed.

Ruhannah cuddled deeper among the blankets and buried the tip of her

chilly nose. But the grey eyes remained wide open and, under the faded

quilt, her little ears were listening intently.

Presently from the floor below came the expected summons: "Ruhannah!"

"Oh, please, mother!"

"It's after seven----"

"I know: I'll be ready in time!"

"It's after seven, Rue!"

"I'm so cold, mother dear!"

"I closed your window. You may bathe and dress down here."

"B-r-r-r! I can see my own breath when I breathe!"

"Come down and dress by the kitchen range," repeated her mother. "I've

warm water all ready for you."

The brassy light behind the trees was becoming golden; slim bluish

shadows already stretched from the base of every tree across frozen

fields dusted with snow.

As usual, the lank black cat came walking into the room, its

mysterious crystal-green eyes brilliant in the glowing light.

Listening, the child heard her father moving heavily about in the

adjoining room.

Then, from below again: "Ruhannah!"

"I'm going to get up, mother!"

"Rue! Obey me!"

"I'm up! I'm on my way!" She sprang out amid a tempest of

bedclothes, hopped gingerly across the chilly carpet, seized her

garments in one hand, comb and toothbrush in the other, ran into the

hallway and pattered downstairs.

The cat followed leisurely, twitching a coal-black tail.

"Mother, could I have my breakfast first? I'm so hungry----"

Her mother turned from the range and kissed her as she huddled close

to it. The sheet of zinc underneath warmed her bare feet delightfully.

She sighed with satisfaction, looked wistfully at the coffeepot

simmering, sniffed at the biscuits and sizzling ham.

"Could I have one little taste before I----"