"Not a bit." Mrs. Pelton shook her head. "I don't feel as if I could ever be tired any more."
She was dressed in a long blue garment—one of Aunt Jane's wrappers—that enveloped her from head to foot. Her parted hair, smooth and shining, was combed close to her head and she looked very small in the big rocking-chair, but resolute and brave.
Aunt Jane regarded her mildly. "I reckon you'll get around to being tired, after a while—like the rest of us." She glanced at the bowl of forget-me-nots. "You enjoy your flowers, don't you!"
"They make me 'most too happy—they're so beautiful!"
"I guess they won't hurt," said Aunt Jane. "Being happy don't hurt—though sometimes it feels as if it hurt," she added thoughtfully. "—as you just couldn't hold any more."
"Yes. That's it! That's the way I feel!" The little woman spoke eagerly and sat up.
"I've been thinking—" she waited a minute, looking at the flowers. "Maybe I ought to go in the ward. I always meant to go in the ward, you know."
Aunt Jane regarded her. "You like it here, don't you?"
"I like it—yes!" She looked about her with grateful eyes—at the photographs and flowers and then at Aunt Jane's face. "It's beautiful!" she said softly.