"I can't cry," she said. "And you can. I wish I could. It seems to have dried away all tears. Poor Jim!"
"He was a good husband to you."
"Yes,—he's been a good husband. Not as he ever was one to say a great deal. But he's been a good husband, and he always meant more than he'd say." Then a thrill of recollection passed over her, and her face changed.
"Yes,—what is it?"
"Something he said only last Sunday,—and I'd forgotten till this minute. I wonder what made him say it?"
"Tell me what he said."
Mrs. Groates' lips were trembling now, and her fingers plucked nervously at her apron. She shook her head as if words failed.
"Tell me. I want to know. What did he say last Sunday? Don't mind crying, but just tell me," begged Mildred. "Last Sunday he said,—"
"He said—he didn't know—how ever in the world he'd have managed—if he'd had a different sort of wife. He said—said—'I'm a crusty sort, Jane,' says he,—'but you've been the best thing in my life.' And he says too, 'A good wife is something to thank God for.'"
Mrs. Groates broke down, and sobbed.