Jane stared in amazement, and then suddenly the fun of it all overcame her, and she burst out laughing. Susan laughed, too. "It was all I could do," she repeated over and over.
"And so you failed," said her niece, still laughing.
"Yes, and so I failed."
"Mercy on us, it's the funniest thing I ever heard in all my life," exclaimed the Sunshine Nurse.
"It ain't always been funny for me," said Susan, "but come, now, I want to show you my room."
She opened a door as she spoke and led the way into a dark, musty-smelling place. It was the work of only a minute to draw the blind and throw up the window. "Right after we've had breakfast, we'll clean it," the aunt declared, "and then I'll move right back in. Husband and me had this room for twenty long years together. He was a saving man, and most of what he was intending to save when I wanted to buy things was told me in this room. Whatever I wanted he always said I could have, and then when it came night, he said I couldn't. The room is full of memories for me—sad memories—but after he was mercifully snatched to everlasting blessedness, I grew fond of it. It's a nice room."
"I think I'll get your tea," said Jane, "and then I'll clean this room and help you move into it. We'll have you all settled before noon."
She turned and ran down to the kitchen. The kettle was singing, and she stuffed more wood in under it and began to hunt for a tray and the other concomitants of an up-stairs breakfast. Things were not easily found.
"Well, I declare!" a voice at the window behind her exclaimed, as she was down on her knees getting a tray-cloth out of a lower drawer. The voice gave her a violent start, being a man's. She sprang to her feet and faced about.
"I'm sorry; I thought you'd know me." It was the artist of the day before, the young man who had come down in the stage.