“And sure enough, mother, directly he woke up, before he opened his eyes he says ‘You here, Grandmother?’ kinder restless like, and she says ‘Yes, Grandfather, right here!’ and laid her hand on his and began to sing, and he smiled real happy and contented, said he didn’t want anything except just to know that she was there. But, mother, ’tis a sweet pretty sight now, to see them two together. Of course he’s an old man and she’s a young girl, but yet—well, they aren’t like other folks, neither one of them. What makes you look like that, mother?”
“Nobody ever was like other folks that ever I heard of,” said Widow Peace rather grimly. “Now you be quiet, Anne Peace. Here comes Rachel.”
Rachel Merion came flying in, splendid in her scarlet dress. “How do, Mis’ Peace?” she said. “Anne, will you lend me that mantilla pattern? I want to make one out of some of that black lace Grandmother Willard had. Will you, Anne? hurry up, I can’t wait.”
Mrs. Peace looked at her with mild severity. “Rachel,” she said; “sit down a spell. I want to speak to you.”
“Oh, I can’t, Mis’ Peace!” said Rachel. “Manuel’s waiting for me outside.”
“Manuel can wait,” said Mrs. Peace. “It’ll do him good. Sit down, Rachel!”
“I’d full as lives stand, thank you,” said Rachel sullenly.
“I asked you to sit down,” said Mrs. Peace quietly; and Rachel sat down with a flounce on the edge of a chair, and listened with lowering brows.