She began to carve, and Rudolph, who sat next his mother, started
the plates on their way. When everybody was served, he looked across the
table at me.
`Have you been to Black Hawk lately, Mr. Burden? Then I wonder if you've
heard about the Cutters?'
No, I had heard nothing at all about them.
`Then you must tell him, son, though it's a terrible thing to talk about at
supper. Now, all you children be quiet, Rudolph is going to tell about the
murder.'
`Hurrah! The murder!' the children murmured, looking pleased and
interested.
Rudolph told his story in great detail, with occasional promptings from his
mother or father.
Wick Cutter and his wife had gone on living in the house that Antonia and I
knew so well, and in the way we knew so well. They grew to be very old
people. He shrivelled up, Antonia said, until he looked like a little old
yellow monkey, for his beard and his fringe of hair never changed colour.
Mrs. Cutter remained flushed and wild-eyed as we had known her, but as the
years passed she became afflicted with a shaking palsy which made her
nervous nod continuous instead of occasional. Her hands were so uncertain
that she could no longer disfigure china, poor woman! As the couple grew
older, they quarrelled more and more often about the ultimate disposition
of their `property.
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