“Well—then I’m dreamin’; an’ they’re so lovely. Just like he told us, you know; ’bout that place where they growed. Oh, you dear, sweet, lovely Dil! I want to see the picture he put you in. You were pritty, I know; folks always are pritty in pictures. An’ we’ll ast him to let us be taken over agen, for when we get on the way to heaven we’ll both be so full of joy. An’ he’ll help us clear to the pallis.”
She stopped to breathe. It came so quick and short now, hardly going below her chest.
“Sit here an’ hold my two hands. Dil, dear, I’m as much trouble as the babies; but I most know I’ll be better to-morrow. And when I go fast asleep, you run right to bed, an’ it’ll be all right. I feel so light an’ lovely, ’most ’s if I was a wild rose—a soft, pink, satiny wild rose.”
There was a little pleasant gurgle that did duty for a laugh. Dil kissed her and crooned sleepily. As she held the hands, the fever seemed to go out of them. The little golden head had such a restful poise. The breath came slowly, easily.
Dil kissed her with the long, yearning, passionate kisses that take one’s whole soul, that leave some souls bankrupt indeed. All her own being was in a strange quiver. Oh, did it mean that Bess would be better to-morrow? She believed it in some strange, undefined way, and was at peace.
Perhaps she drowsed. She started, feeling stiff and chilly. Bess slept tranquilly. There was no pain to make her moan unconsciously. Why, it was almost a foretaste of that blessed land.
Dil wrapped herself in an old shawl and dropped down on her little cot. In all the glad wide world there was no one to come in and comfort her, and so God sent his angel—kindly sleep. The night breath that he breathed over her had the fragrance of wild roses.
The alarm clock roused her. It was dark now when her day began. Bess was quiet; and she drew the blanket more closely around her, for the morning felt bitterly cold. She stirred the fire, made her mother’s coffee, and broiled a bit of steak. The windows were all ice, which seldom happened.
“It’s enough to kill one to go out in the cold,” declared Mrs. Quinn. “I’ll not be home airly the night, for I promised cook to stay a bit an’ gev her a hand wid th’ fancy fixin’s. Foine doin’s they’re to be havin’. An’ if that thafe of the world Owny comes in, ye be soft spoken jist as if nothin’ had happened. I’ll settle wid him. I’ll gev him some Christmas!”
With that she was off. Then Dan came for his breakfast.