“O Misses Finnigan, if mother should be awful about it, might I just say ye gev it to me? Mother do be moighty queer sometimes, and other whiles she don’t notice.”
“That I will, an’ the blissid Virgin’ll count it no sin. It’s a long head ye’ve got, Dil, an’ its wisdom that gets through the world widout havin’ it broken. It’ll be all right”—with another wink. “An’ here’s a bit of bananny for the poor colleen.”
Dil ran off home with the bowl wrapped up in her apron to prevent incautious gossip. One of the babies was crying, but she hushed it with the end of the banana. It was rather “off,” and the middle had to be amputated, but the baby enjoyed the unwonted luxury.
Then she washed her bowl and filled it with clean water.
“They’ll freshen up, and the buds be comin’ out every day. I’ll set thim on the window-sill, and all night they’ll be sweet to you between whiles, when you can’t sleep. O Bess dear, do you mind the old lady who came in with her trax, I think she called thim, and sung in her trembly voice ’bout everlastin’ spring an’ never with’rin’ flowers? I’ve always wisht I could remember more of it. Never with’rin’ flowers! Think how lovely ’twould be!”
“An’—heaven! That’s what it is, Dil. I wisht some one else could know. O Dil, think of flowers always stayin’ fresh an’ sweet!”
Dil snipped off the faded leaves, and gave them a fresh water bath. One branch had seven buds and five roses. The delight that stirred these starved souls was quite indescribable. Never had they possessed such a wealth of pleasure.
Now and then Dil had to leave off and comfort the fractious babies. They were getting tired, and wanted their own mothers. But for the poor little girl playing at motherhood there was no one to come in and infold her in restful arms, and comfort her when the long, warm day ended.
At last she had the bowl filled with flowers, a great mound of delicious pink and tenderest green. Bess and Dilsey knew little about artistic methods; but the sight was a joy that the finest knowledge could not have described—that full, wordless satisfaction.
A passionate pulsation throbbed in Bess’s throat as if it would strangle her.