Then a faint voice answered back:
“No, I can just as well walk.” She evidently knew the danger of sitting next to an overcharged boiler.
Mrs. Plimsole!—a woman—walk—on a night like this—I was out of the sleigh before she had ceased to speak.
“No, madam, you are going to do nothing of the kind; if anybody is to walk it will be I; I'm getting used to it.”
She allowed me to tuck her in. It was too dark for me to see what she was like—she was so swathed and tied up. Being still mad—fires drawn but still dangerous, I concluded that my companion was sour, and skinny, with a parrot nose and one tooth gone. That I was to pass the night at her house did not improve the estimate; there would be mottoes on the walls—“What is home without a mother,” and the like; tidies on the chairs, and a red-hot stove smelling of drying socks. There would also be a basin and pitcher the size of a cup and saucer, and a bed that sagged in the middle and was covered with a cotton quilt.
The Nautilus stopped at a gate, beyond which was a smaller Jacob's ladder leading to a white cottage. Was there nothing built on a level in Sheffield? I asked myself. The bags which had been hung on the shafts came first, then I, then the muffled head and cloak. Upward and onward again, through a door, past a pretty girl who stood with her hand on the knob in welcome, and into a hall. Here the girl helped unmummy her mother, and then turned up the hall-lamp.
Oh, such a dear, sweet gray-haired old lady! The kind of an old lady you would have wanted to stay—not a night with—but a year. An old lady with plump fresh cheeks and soft brown eyes and a smile that warmed you through and through. And such an all-embracing restful room with its open wood fire, andirons and polished fender—and the plants and books and easy-chairs! And the cheer of it all!
“Now you just sit there and get comfortable,” she said, patting my shoulder—(the second time in one night that a woman's hand had been that of an angel). “Maggie'll get you some supper. We had it all ready, expecting you on the six-ten. Hungry, aren't you?”
Hungry! I could have gnawed a hole in a sofa to get at the straw stuffing.
She drew up a chair, waited till her daughter had left the room, and said with a twinkle in her eyes: