Then she went to her new home. Miss Florence sat alone on the porch. The babies were soundly asleep.
“Did you have a nice dinner?” she asked. “And I suppose you are very tired. Will you sit here awhile or would you rather go to bed?”
“Yes, I would like to go to bed,” she answered, wearily.
They went through the place they were using for a sort of kitchen and up a narrow stairway. Only part of the room had a fair 150 ceiling, the rest slanted down to some narrow windows. There was a cot, an old fashioned wash stand and a sort of closet. Their packing trunks were up here.
“Mr. Borden had taken the other part the house first. There is more room and it is rather nicer. But the woman who had taken this wanted so to exchange and made an offer in the rent and they do charge scandalously for these summer places. And when you’re not keeping house it doesn’t matter so much. It saves lots of trouble. They just give meals over there and they are first rate. I put your clothes that we brought in that closet. It was very nice in Miss Armitage to get you some others and she wouldn’t let Mr. Borden pay for them. I want to hear all about her tomorrow. You won’t feel afraid, will you?”
“Oh no,” was the reply. It didn’t seem to matter much what happened to her now.
“Good-night, then, I hope you will sleep well.”
“Good-night,” steadying her tone.
She thought she wouldn’t sleep at all, but her poor little body was so tired out that exhausted nature demanded rest. And she was 151 awakened in the morning with the singing of some birds, and a beautiful poem floated through her mind. She would not count any Sundays until September came in.
Mrs. Borden called her and she replied, dressing quickly and going down stairs.