She had had a restless night. There had seemed so many hours; and she had thought of things that she ought to have done before she left home.... She had forgotten to tell any one about Tommie's milk. He always got upset so easy! She wondered if Mrs. Colby would know. It had been good in Mrs. Colby to say she would come in and look after the children a little. But Mamie was really old enough to cook for them.... And she did hope John would be all right—and not worry about her.... He would be at work at ten—when "things" were going on. That was good!... Mrs. John Pelton knew that it was work that would carry John over the hard place—work that would take every nerve and thought for itself. John was a puddler and they were to "run" at ten o'clock—or about ten. He would have his hands full—enough to think about and not worry—till things were over.... He would come, after work hours, to see how she had got through.
Then she had fallen asleep and dreamed she was slipping down a steep place—down, down, and couldn't stop—and some one had caught her arm.... And it was the nurse, waking her gently for something. And then she had dozed a little and wakened and wondered about the children again....
And no one had brought her any breakfast—not even a cup of coffee. "Nothing to eat this morning," the nurse had said, smiling, when she had plucked up courage to ask for something. The nurse was a nice girl—a good girl, Mrs. Pelton thought—but hardly older than Mamie, it seemed.
That older woman was so good yesterday! Aunt Jane's look and cap came floating hazily to her; and she slipped a hand under her cheek and fell asleep, thinking of it.
The thin face on the pillow, with the hair drawn tightly back and braided in its two small braids, had somehow a heroic look. There were lines of suffering on the forehead, but the mouth had a touch of something like courage, even in its sleep—as if it would smile, when the next hard thing was over.
Aunt Jane, who had come in silently and stood looking down at it, called it "the woman look."
"They always have it," she sometimes said—"the real ones have it—kind of as if they knew things would come better—if just they could hold on—not give up, or make a fuss or anything—just hold on!"
The woman opened her eyes and smiled faintly. "I didn't know as you came to see us—in the rooms," she said.
Aunt Jane nodded. "Yes, I'm 'most everywhere."