About ten minutes after Samanthy left the house, Lindy Putnam entered the sick room. Mrs. Putnam's pain had been relieved somewhat by the mustard, and this relief restored, to a great extent, her usual vigor of mind.
"What are you up here for?" cried Mrs. Putnam, a look of displeasure clouding her face.
"I knew Samanthy had gone out, and so I came up to see if I could do anything for you, mother."
"Don't mother me. I ain't your mother, and I mean everybody shall know it soon's I'm dead."
"I've had to say mother before other people," explained Lindy, "and that's why I forgot myself then. Pray excuse me."
"Oh, don't put on yer citified airs when yer talkin' to me. Ain't yer glad I'm goin' ter die?"
"I hope you will get better, Mrs. Putnam," answered Lindy.
"You know better," rejoined Mrs. Putnam. "You'll be glad when I'm gone, for then you kin go gallivantin' 'round and spend the money that my son worked hard fur."
"I've used very little of it," said Lindy; "less than the interest; I have never touched the principal."
Lindy still remained standing at the foot of the bed.