The bell now was rapidly tolling one, two, three, four, and all the company counted eagerly up to sixteen, seventeen, when Mis' Persis interposed.
"No, 'taint Lyddy; it's goin' on," and they counted and counted, and still the bell kept tolling till it had numbered eighty. "It's old Granny Moss," said Mis' Persis decisively; "she's ben lyin' low some time. Well, she's in heaven now; the better for her."
"Ah, I'm glad she's in heaven," said Dolly, with a shivering sigh; "she's all safe now."
"Oh, yes, she's better off," said Nabby, getting up and shaking her dress as if to shake off the very thought of death. A warm, strong, glowing creature she was, as full of earth-life as the fire-lilies they had been gathering. She seemed a creature made for this world and its present uses, and felt an animal repulsion to the very thought of death.
"Come, Dolly," she said, briskly, as she counted the last toll, "we can't wait another minute."
"Well, Dolly," said Mis' Persis, "tell your mother I'm a comin' this year to make up her candles for her, and the work sha'n't cost her a cent. I've been tryin' out a lot o' bayberry wax to put in 'em and make 'em good and firm."
"I'm sure you are very good," said Dolly, with instinctive politeness.
"I want to do my part towards supportin' my minister," said Mis' Persis, "and that's what I hev to give."
"I'll tell my mother, and I know she'll thank you," answered Dolly, as they turned homeward.
The sun was falling lower and lower toward the west. The long shadows of the two danced before them on the dusty road.