By Walter Van Tilburg Clark
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Extra info for The Track of the Cat
She drew the boiling coffee pot off the fire, and poured coffee, still hissing and bubbling, into two cups beside the plates. "It’s good for Grace, having someone new to talk to for a while," Arthur said. "It’s precious little but talk I’ll get out of her, too," the mother said. She brought the two filled plates to the table and set them down in front of Arthur and Harold and laid a knife, spoon and fork beside each plate. " "No, Mother, it’s all right," Arthur said. " "There’ll be time enough to see her," the mother said.
Arthur made four more careful little cuts on the shoulder of the lion, and then reached around back of him and slipped it into the pocket of the cowhide parka, with the other two carvings. He closed the knife and put it in his pants pocket and drew his chair in. He picked up his fork, but then just held it while he looked at the mother’s face. She was staring down across the mug into the center of the shadow on the table. " Arthur asked gently. She turned her head finally, and looked at him and smiled a little.
Harold lifted his head quickly and stared at her this time. Arthur peered at her too, squinting as if he were trying to see something a long way off, or through a blinding light. The mother didn’t look up. Harold drew a short breath and worked the muscles of his jaws three or four times, and then looked down again. "She’s not that kind," he said. "Maybe not," the mother said, "but whether she is or not, it’s high time you thought what you’re going to do. " She looked at him for the first time, and studied him for a moment as he sat bent over his plate but not eating.