washed and cried and cried and washed, as Clara Belle had always
seen her, it was either because of some
hidden sorrow, or because
her poor strength seemed all at once to have deserted her.
Just when
employment and good fortune had come to the
step-children, and her own were better fed and clothed than ever
before, the pain that had always lurked,
constant but dull, near
her tired heart, grew
fierce and
triumphantly strong; clutching
her in its talons,
biting, gnawing, worrying, leaving her each
week with slighter powers of
resistance. Still hope was in the
air and a greater content than had ever been hers was in her
eyes; a content that came near to happiness when the doctor
ordered her to keep her bed and sent for Clara Belle. She could
not wash any longer, but there was the ever new
miracle of the
Saturday night remittance for household expenses.
"Is your pain bad today, mother," asked Clara Belle, who, only
lately given away, was merely borrowed from Mrs. Fogg for what
was thought to be a brief emergency.
"Well, there, I can't hardly tell, Clara Belle," Mrs. Simpson
replied, with a faint smile. "I can't seem to remember the pain
these days without it's extra bad. The neighbors are so kind;
Mrs. Little has sent me canned
mustard greens, and Mrs. Benson
chocolate ice cream and mince pie; there's the doctor's drops to
make me sleep, and these blankets and that great box of eatables
from Mr. Ladd; and you here to keep me comp'ny! I declare I'm
kind o' dazed with comforts. I never expected to see sherry wine
in this house. I ain't never drawed the cork; it does me good
enough jest to look at Mr. Ladd's bottle settin' on the
mantel-piece with the fire shinin' on the brown glass."
Mr. Simpson had come to see his wife and had met the doctor just
as he was leaving the house.
"She looks awful bad to me. Is she goin' to pull through all
right, same as the last time?" he asked the doctor nervously.
"She's going to pull right through into the other world," the
doctor answered
bluntly; "and as there don't seem to be anybody
else to take the bull by the horns, I'd
advise you, having made
the woman's life about as hard and
miserable as you could, to try
and help her to die easy!"
Abner, surprised and crushed by the weight of this verbal
chastisement, sat down on the
doorstep, his head in his hands,
and thought a while
solemnly. Thought was not an operation he was
wont to
indulge in, and when he opened the gate a few minutes
later and walked slowly toward the barn for his horse, he looked
pale and unnerved. It is uncommonly
startling, first to see
yourself in another man's
scornful eyes, and then, clearly, in
your own.
Two days later he came again, and this time it was decreed that
he should find Parson Carll tying his piebald mare at the post.
Clara Belle's quick eye had observed the
minister as he alighted
from his buggy, and,
warning her mother, she
hastily smoothed the
bedclothes, arranged the medicine bottles, and swept the hearth.
"Oh! Don't let him in!" wailed Mrs. Simpson, all of a
flutter at
the
prospect of such a
visitor. "Oh, dear! They must think over
to the village that I'm
dreadful sick, or the
minister wouldn't
never think of callin'! Don't let him in, Clara Belle! I'm afraid
he will say hard words to me, or pray to me; and I ain't never
been prayed to since I was a child! Is his wife with him?"
"No; he's alone; but father's just drove up and is hitching at
the shed door."
"That's worse than all!" and Mrs. Simpson raised herself feebly
on her pillows and clasped her hands in
despair. "You mustn't let
them two meet, Clara Belle, and you must send Mr. Carll away;
your father wouldn't have a
minister in the house, nor speak to
one, for a thousand dollars!"
"Be quiet, mother! Lie down! It'll be all right! You'll only fret
yourself into a spell! The
minister's just a good man; he won't
say anything to
frighten you. Father's talking with him real