Dil gave a long sigh. She was as impatient as Bess, but she hardly dared set her heart upon the hope.
She was a very busy little woman, and her mind had to be on her work. The garments given to the boys had, of course, the best taken out of them, and Owen was hard on his clothes. As for the stockings, their darning was a work of labor, if not of love. Bess had to be kept warm and comfortable, and Dil tried to make her pretty as well. There were some rainy Saturdays, and the one baby often came in that day. But she tried to give Bess an airing on Sunday. It was such a change for the poor little invalid.
Mrs. Quinn was better pleased to be busy all the time. Besides the money, which was really needed now that fires were more expensive, she liked the change, the gossiping and often it was a pleasure to find fault with her customers. She still went to Mrs. MacBride’s of an evening.
With the advent of November came a week of glorious Indian summer weather. And one Saturday Mrs. Quinn was to do some cleaning at a fine house, and stay to help with a grand dinner. Dil rushed through with her work, and they went up to the Square that afternoon, and sat in the old place. The sparrows came and chirped cheerfully; but the flowers were gone, the trees leafless. Yet it was delightful to picture it all again.
John Travis would have felt sorry for Dil to-day—perhaps if he had seen her for the first time he would not have been so instantly attracted. Her eyes were heavy, her skin dark and sodden. Even Bess grew weary with the long ride. But they shopped a little again; and Dil was extravagant enough to buy some long, soft woollen stockings for Bess’s “poor, hurted legs.”
“I’m so tired,” she said afterward. “’Tain’t quite like summer, is it? Make up a good fire, Dil, an’ get me snappin’ warm.”
She did not want much to eat. Even the grapes had lost their flavor.
“I wish you could sing that beautiful hymn,” she said to Dil. “I’d just like to hear it, ’cause it keeps floatin’ round all the time, an’ don’t get quite near enough. O Dil! don’t you s’pose you can sing in heaven?”
“Seems to me I heard at the Mission School that everybody would. If the Lord Jesus can mend your legs, I’m sure he can put some music in my throat.”
“We’ll ask him right away. Then read to me a little.”