"Only that we had better examine what we're wanting; and choose something that won't go back on us. Aunt Mary did; and I believe she had a strong faith."
"We never talked religion," said Eliza.
"Just lived it. That's better."
"I didn't," returned Eliza, a spark of the old belligerency flashing in her faded eyes. "I can't think of one single enemy that I love!"
"You were everything to Aunt Mary. Do you suppose I shall ever forget that?"
"I sat down in front o' those pictures in the Metropolitan Museum," said Eliza, her lips trembling again. "It's awful big, and I got so tuckered, the pictures sort o' ran together till I didn't know a landscape from a portrait. Then I used to take on over somethin' that had a seat in front of it, and she'd leave me sittin' there starin'. Oh, Mr. Sidney, I can't think o' one other mean thing I ever did to her,"—remorseful grief shook the speaker's voice,—"but I'd ought to 'a' stood up to the end. It would 'a' showed more interest!"
Phil squeezed the spare shoulders as they heaved. He laughed a little.
"Now, Eliza, whatever way you managed it, I know you made her happy."
"Yes," groaned the repentant one, "she said my artistic soul was wakin' up. Do you s'pose where she is now she knows it was black deceit?"