“Does your back pain you a great deal?” asked Gypsy.
“Oh, yes; all the time. But, then, I get used to it, you know,” said Peace.
“All the time!—oh, I am so sorry!” said Gypsy, drawing a long breath.
“Oh, it might be worse,” said Peace, smiling.
“I’ve only lain here three years. Some people can’t move for forty. The doctor says I sha’n’t live so long as that.”
Gypsy looked at the low bed, the narrow room, the pallid face and shrunken body cramped there, moveless, on the pillows. Three years! Three years to lie through summer suns and winter snows, while all the world was out at play, and happy!
“Well,” said Gypsy, as the most appropriate comment suggesting itself; “you are rather different from Mrs. Littlejohn!”
Peace smiled. There was something rare about Peace Maythorne’s smile.