I felt so weak and sad all of a sudden—God knows why. She rarely spoke of him. I held her hand.
"Why, look, Rhoda, there's a stalk of larkspur out!" she said. "Go pick it for me, will you?"
I started to say no, but then I saw but one bud on it and I thought to myself, "I'll see her pleased for once, I will!" knowing she'd never notice, and so brought it. She waved it, blue above her white head (and me only iron grey to-day!)
"Larkspur, larkspur, tell me true,
Or never again I'll trust to you,"
she mumbled like, and I thought her voice sounded strange and far away, somehow.
"Is a change coming at last in my narrow little life?"
"Oh, hush, Miss Lisbet! you that have been so much to so many!" says I, sobbing at her dear stupidness, and then she begins, yes—and that was all.
"Why, Rhoda!" she cries, "at last, at last I've won!" and half rises in the garden-chair. Then suddenly her hands went to her heart.
"Why, Louis—Louis! My dear!" she said, staring at the cedar hedge. "Can you see?" And fell back.
The change had come, indeed, and I and all that loved her hope that now she knows what a life like hers meant to those she lived among and blessed!