They looked at each other in a pathetic fashion through their tears, each bearing the other’s sorrow, though they knew nothing of the divine injunction. Dil had fought silent battles with herself for faith in John Travis, but Bess had never wavered until now.
“It was so beautiful—that afternoon, an’ the talkin’. I’ve thought so often ’bout his Lord Jesus, who could make my poor little legs well, an’, Dil, somehow they keep shrinken’ away. An’ the lovely fruit an’ things! An’ all that money! O Dil, we know now how rich folks feel, only they’re rich all their lives, and we was rich jest that little while. But it was splendid! Rich folks oughter be happy every minnit, an’—an’ good. ’Twould be so easy when you lived in a big, beautiful house, an’ had flowers an’ nice things to eat an’ to wear, an’ a kerrige to ride in—”
She stopped exhausted, but her eyes glowed with the vision, and a rapture illumined her wan face. Ah, Bess, one poor, forlorn creature, born in the brain of the finest genius of his time, made the same pathetic outcry in her pitiful plight, brought about by her own ill-doing. And you both touched the boundary of a broad truth.
Dil gave a long, quivering breath, and it seemed as if her arms could never unclose again, so tight and fast did they hold their treasure.
“I’m most sure he’ll come.” Bess made a strenuous effort to keep the doubt out of her tone. “He was ter bring the book, you know, and the picture; an’ he didn’t look ’s though he was one of the forgettin’ kind. There’s somethin’—I can’t quite make it out; but Dil, when things is all still, most towards mornin’, seems if I could hear him talk. Only—it’s so long to spring. I’m most sorry we didn’t start that day. Why, we might have been to heaven before real cold weather. I’m so tired. Dil, dear, lay me down on the lounge, won’t you? It’ll rest me a bit.”
She put her down softly, and tucked the faded quilt about her. Mamie had fallen asleep on the floor, and she laid her on her own little pallet. The other baby had found a dropped-out knot in the floor, and was trying to put his crust of bread down through it.
Dil washed her dishes and tidied up the house. The clothes from the floor above swung on the pulley-line, and helped to shut out even the chilly gray light. Then there was dinner to get for the boys, who went to school quite steadily. Dan wasn’t so bad, though; and Owen had been threatened with the reform-school, “where you had to sweep floors and sew on a machine like a gal!” That did not look so inviting as liberty.
What would happen to-night when her mother came home? Would she, could she, send Bess away?
“’Tain’t no use to pray,” she thought despairingly within her much-tried soul. “I uster pray about Bess’s poor little legs, an’ they never mended any. An’ mebbe he thought we’d be a bother, an’ he’d rather go to heaven alone.”
What had become of John Travis?