“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” protested Faith. “The spare room is all torn up. The mice have gnawed a big hole in the feather tick and made a nest in it. We never found it out till Aunt Martha put the Rev. Mr. Fisher from Charlottetown there to sleep last week. He soon found it out. Then father had to give him his bed and sleep on the study lounge. Aunt Martha hasn’t had time to fix the spare room bed up yet, so she says; so nobody can sleep there, no matter how clean their heads are. And our room is so small, and the bed so small you can’t sleep with us.”
“I can go back to the hay in the old barn for the night if you’ll lend me a quilt,” said Mary philosophically. “It was kind of chilly last night, but ‘cept for that I’ve had worse beds.”
“Oh, no, no, you mustn’t do that,” said Una. “I’ve thought of a plan, Faith. You know that little trestle bed in the garret room, with the old mattress on it, that the last minister left there? Let’s take up the spare room bedclothes and make Mary a bed there. You won’t mind sleeping in the garret, will you, Mary? It’s just above our room.”
“Any place’ll do me. Laws, I never had a decent place to sleep in my life. I slept in the loft over the kitchen at Mrs. Wiley’s. The roof leaked rain in the summer and the snow druv in in winter. My bed was a straw tick on the floor. You won’t find me a mite huffy about where I sleep.”
The manse garret was a long, low, shadowy place, with one gable end partitioned off. Here a bed was made up for Mary of the dainty hemstitched sheets and embroidered spread which Cecilia Meredith had once so proudly made for her spare-room, and which still survived Aunt Martha’s uncertain washings. The good nights were said and silence fell over the manse. Una was just falling asleep when she heard a sound in the room just above that made her sit up suddenly.
“Listen, Faith—Mary’s crying,” she whispered. Faith replied not, being already asleep. Una slipped out of bed, and made her way in her little white gown down the hall and up the garret stairs. The creaking floor gave ample notice of her coming, and when she reached the corner room all was moonlit silence and the trestle bed showed only a hump in the middle.
“Mary,” whispered Una.
There was no response.
Una crept close to the bed and pulled at the spread. “Mary, I know you are crying. I heard you. Are you lonesome?”
Mary suddenly appeared to view but said nothing.