"It's a poor business looking at the sun with a cloudy face."
The long, hot summer days that followed were full of trials for Lovey Mary. Day after day the great unwinking sun glared savagely down upon the Cabbage Patch, upon the stagnant pond, upon the gleaming rails, upon the puffing trains that pounded by hour after hour. Each morning found Lovey Mary trudging away to the factory, where she stood all day counting and sorting and packing tiles. At night she climbed wearily to her little room under the roof, and tried to sleep with a wet cloth over her face to keep her from smelling the stifling car smoke.
But it was not the heat and discomfort alone that made her cheeks thin and her eyes sad and listless: it was the burden on her conscience, which seemed to be growing heavier all the time. One morning Mrs. Wiggs took her to task for her gloomy countenance. They met at the pump, and, while the former's bucket was being filled, Lovey Mary leaned against a lamp-post and waited in a dejected attitude.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Mrs. Wiggs. "What you lookin' so wilted about?"
Lovey Mary dug her shoe into the ground and said nothing. Many a time had she been tempted to pour forth her story to this friendly mentor, but the fear of discovery and her hatred of Kate deterred her.
Mrs. Wiggs eyed her keenly. "Pesterin' about somethin'?" she asked.
"Yes, 'm," said Lovey Mary, in a low tone.
"Somethin' that's already did?"
"Yes, 'm"—still lower.
"Did you think you was actin' fer the best?"