Luther Hansen had been trying to interrupt the flow of his wife’s confession, and broke in at this point by saying:
“Sadie’s nervous an’ upset over——”
“No, I ain’t,” Sadie replied hastily. “I’ve been as mean as mud, an’ here she’s took care of you, an’ I’ve gone an’ got Hornby mad at ’er. He believed what I told, if ’is wife didn’t. They say, Lizzie, that ’e lives there all by ’iself an’——” Sadie choked, and waited for Elizabeth to speak.
“I guess you’ve worried about nothing,” Elizabeth said brightly. “I’ve been to see him, and we’re good friends—the best kind in fact, and no one could ever make us anything else hereafter.” She looked down at Luther and smiled.
“Will it make any difference with my baby?” Sadie asked anxiously, her mind working like a treadmill in its own little round.
“No, Sadie—that is, I guess not. I’ve been thinking, as I listened to you, that the way you tried would have to count—it’s bigger than anything else you’ve done.”
Sadie Hansen dropped into a chair sobbing hysterically.
Elizabeth’s hand went to the girl’s shoulder comfortingly.
“God does not ask that we succeed, Sadie; he asks that we try.”