She got up herself and went and stood before the picture. Mrs. Latimer rose and came and stood beside her.
“Mr. Baird has been with me every day,” she said. “He has been like a son to me.”
A carriage drew up before the house, and, as the occupant got out, both women turned to look.
Mrs. Latimer turned a shade paler.
“They have got back from the funeral,” she said. “It is Mr. Baird.”
Then came the ring at the front door, the footsteps in the passage, and Baird came into the room. He was haggard and looked broken and old, but his manner was very gentle when he went to the little old woman and took her hands.
“I think he scarcely knew he had so many friends at Janney’s Mills,” he said. “A great many of them came. When I turned away the earth was covered with flowers.”
He drew her to a chair and sat by her. She put her white head on his arm and cried.
“He was always so sad,” she said. “He thought people never cared for him. But he was good—he was good. I felt sure they must love him a little. It will be better for him—now.”
Miss Amory spoke from her place before the fire, where she stood rigidly, with a baffled look on her face. Her voice was low and hoarse.