“Well, we can’t make you entirely new, but we’ll do our best. I’m going to enquire about a nice cottage not very far from here; there’s plenty of time before this one is sold. It shall be dry and warm and cosy, and you will feel another person in it altogether.”
“These new houses be terrible dear, bain’t they?” the old woman said anxiously.
“Not a bit; besides that’s another matter I want to settle with you, Nursie. I’m going to pay the rent always, and you’re going to have a nice little girl to help you with the work, and there will be something paid to you each month, so that you won’t have any anxiety.”
“Oh, Missie, Missie, whatever be you sayin’? Me never to have no anxiety again!”
“You never shall, if I can help it; old people should never have worries; that’s what young people are here for, to look after them and keep them happy.”
Mrs. Prettyman lay back on the pillow and gazed at Robinette incredulously; it wasn’t possible that such a solution had come to all her troubles. For seventy odd years she had worked and struggled and sometimes very nearly starved and here was some one assuring her that these struggles were over forever, that she needn’t work hard any more, or ever worry again. Could it be true? And all to come from Miss Cynthia’s daughter!
Robinette bent down and kissed the wrinkled old face softly.
“Good-night, Nursie dear,” she said. “I’m not going to stay any longer with you to-day, because you’re tired. Have a good sleep, and waken up strong and bright.”
“Good-night, Missie, good-night, dear,” the old woman said. Her face had taken on 267 an expression of such peacefulness as it had never worn before.