“Betsy,” asked John, “do you ever think of that roof any more?”
“Yes,” answered Betsy, trying to be serious, “and we’ll have it some of these days—never fear.”
VII
MAKING BELIEVE BRINGS THINGS
For the next twenty years Betsy made baskets and John went in and out with his pick and shovel. But they earned less and less. And then the owner of their house died and left them to the tender mercy of his heirs. These promptly began to inquire about the arrears of rent.
“I don’t know how much we are back, but I guess it’s a good deal,” smiled Betsy.
John was troubled. “If we’d only kep’ on saving, we might own the house by now, and—”
Betsy put her hand on his mouth—and some of the fingers into it.
“We made better use of it, John, ten thousand times better use of it! John—we bought happiness with it! And they are all dead, now, back there at Saint Michael’s. And there is not a thing to regret—not one. Oh, thank God—thank God! If we had saved that money, there would be something to regret. We would have to remember that one was denied this—the other—that. But we’ll have the roof yet.”
John sniffled and let his arm go gently around her.
“Betsy—forgive me. I didn’t mean—”