She was so glad they had put on her best dress, bought with John Travis’s money. Ah, if they only had started that day and risked all! Here was her blue sash and the blue bows for her sleeves. She hardly had the courage to touch the beloved form.
How strangely cold the little hands were. She kissed them, and then she no longer felt afraid. She raised the frail figure, and passed the ribbon round the waist. Almost it seemed as if Bess breathed.
She brought the brush and comb, and curled the hair in her own flowing fashion, picking out the pretty bang in rings, kissing the cold cheeks, the shell-like eyelids. Why, surely Bess was only asleep. She must, she would waken, to-morrow morning perhaps. A sudden buoyant hope electrified her. She had her again, and the horrible thought of separation vanished. Dil was too ignorant to formulate any theories, but every pulse stirred within her own body.
Two of the mothers came for babies, but she uttered no word of what had happened. Then she fed the others, and fixed the fire, and Dan peered in fearfully. She gave him a slice of bread, and he was glad to be off.
Up-stairs they had watched the breath go out of the poor body.
“Pore thing! God rist her sowl wheriver it is,” and Mrs. Murphy crossed herself.
“Has she no friends?”
“Not a wan, I belayve. She used to talk of some nevys whin she first come, that’s nigh two years ago. But she’d lost track of them. I’m sure I’ve taken good care of the pore ould craythur, an’ I hope some wan will do the same to me at the last.”
“You’re a kindly woman, Mrs. Murphy, and God grant it. We don’t know where nor when the end will come.”
Mrs. Minch stopped as she went down-stairs.