“Minerva needed the gleam of many lights in the kitchen and I’ve plucked a lamp from every room. You’ll tire your eyes reading. Come and sit with me.”
Ethel gave a little chuckle and sat down in the chair I provided.
“Dear, it will end by our becoming her slaves.”
“Anything to keep her,” said I. “Who wants a light but the great light of stars. I suppose that to-night on all this broad continent there is no soul so wretched as poor Minerva, deprived of her elevator man and the girl across the hall—and all, that we may live in comfort. Who are we, Ethel, that we should do this thing?”
“Oh, stop your nonsense. Minerva will be all right when the sun shines.”
The light from the kitchen window shone away down the hill and lighted up the pool in which the bull frogs were “moaning.” Above their chorus we heard a wail.
“What’s that, an owl?”
“No, Ethel, that’s a howl. It’s Minerva again.”
We could now distinguish “So dismal!”
“You go and hold her in your lap and rock her to sleep. I can’t,” said I.