That night, after Mrs. Bridges had put Mrs. Lane to bed and said good-night to her, she went out on the front porch and sat down; but presently, remembering that she had not put a candle in the room, she went back, opening the door noiselessly, not to disturb her. Then she stood perfectly still. The old creature had got out of bed and was kneeling beside it, her face buried in her hands.
“Oh, Lord God,” she was saying aloud, “bless these kind people—bless ’em, oh, Lord God! Hear a poor, old mis’rable soul’s prayer, an’ bless ’em! An’ if they’ve ever done a sinful thing, oh, Lord God, forgive ’em for it, because they’ve kep’ me out o’ the poor-house—”
Mrs. Bridges closed the door, and stood sobbing as if her heart must break.
“What’s the matter, maw?” said Isaphene, coming up suddenly.
“Never you mind what’s the matter,” said her mother, sharply, to conceal her emotion. “You get to bed, an’ don’t bother your head about what’s the matter of me.”
Then she went down the hall and entered her own room; and Isaphene heard the key turned in the lock.
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT
“Why, mother, where are you a-goin’, all dressed up so?”
Mr. Sybert stood in the bedroom door and stared at his wife’s ample back. There was a look of surprise in his blue eyes. Mrs. Sybert stooped before the bureau, and opened the middle drawer, taking hold of both handles and watching it carefully as she drew it toward her. Sometimes it came out crookedly; and every one knows that a drawer that opens crookedly, will, in time, strain and rub the best bureau ever made. From a red pasteboard box that had the picture of a pretty actress on the cover, Mrs. Sybert took a linen handkerchief that had been ironed until it shone like satin. After smoothing an imaginary wrinkle out of it, she put it into her pocket, set her bonnet a little further over her forehead, pushing a stray lock sternly where it belonged, adjusted her bonnet-strings, which were so wide and so stiff that they pressed her ears away from her head, giving her a bristling appearance, and buttoned her gloves with a hair-pin; then, having gained time and decided upon a reply, she said, cheerfully, “What’s that, father?”