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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library-Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton


50

widow Homan’s; but Ethan, heedless of this boast, had already
climbed to the sledge and was driving on to the rival
establishment. Here, after considerable search, and sympathetic
questions as to what he wanted it for, and whether ordinary flour
paste wouldn’t do as well if she couldn’t find it, the widow Homan
finally hunted down her solitary bottle of glue to its hiding-place
in a medley of cough-lozenges and corset-laces.

“I hope Zeena ain’t broken anything she sets store by,” she called
after him as he turned the greys toward home.

The fitful bursts of sleet had changed into a steady rain and the
horses had heavy work even without a load behind them. Once or
twice, hearing sleighbells, Ethan turned his head, fancying that
Zeena and Jotham might overtake him; but the old sorrel was not
in sight, and he set his face against the rain and urged on his
ponderous pair.

The barn was empty when the horses turned into it and, after
giving them the most perfunctory ministrations they had ever
received from him, he strode up to the house and pushed open the
kitchen door.

Mattie was there alone, as he had pictured her. She was bending
over a pan on the stove; but at the sound of his step she turned
with a start and sprang to him.

“See, here, Matt, I’ve got some stuff to mend the dish with! Let me
get at it quick,” he cried, waving the bottle in one hand while he
put her lightly aside; but she did not seem to hear him.

“Oh, Ethan-Zeena’s come,” she said in a whisper, clutching his
sleeve.

They stood and stared at each other, pale as culprits.
“But the sorrel’s not in the barn!” Ethan stammered.
“Jotham Powell brought some goods over from the Flats for his
wife, and he drove right on home with them,” she explained.

He gazed blankly about the kitchen, which looked cold and
squalid in the rainy winter twilight.

“How is she?” he asked, dropping his voice to Mattie’s whisper.
She looked away from him uncertainly. “I don’t know. She went
right up to her room.”

“She didn’t say anything?” “No.” Ethan let out his doubts in a low
whistle and thrust the bottle back into his pocket. “Don’t fret; I’ll
come down and mend it in the night,” he said. He pulled on his
wet coat again and went back to the barn to feed the greys.

While he was there Jotham Powell drove up with the sleigh, and
when the horses had been attended to Ethan said to him: “You
might as well come back up for a bite.” He was not sorry to assure
himself of Jotham’s neutralising presence at the supper table, for
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