She insisted on paying for what they gave her, and the girls humored her to the extent of letting her pay a mere fraction of what the supplies were actually worth. With this she was well content, for it gave her the feeling of independence that it was necessary for her to have.
Then one day, coming up the hill to the little cabin, the girls found the Old Maid of the Mountains sitting in front of her door, bending closely over some needlework she held in her hand.
She looked up as the girls accosted her and then passed her hand wonderingly before her eyes. There was a puzzled expression on her face.
“I—I can’t see,” she said plaintively. “The sun must be too strong.”
“You have strained your eyes, sewing,” scolded Betty, as she took the work from the old lady’s unresisting hands. “Feeling better now?” she asked anxiously.
The old lady nodded.
“There were black dots dancing before my eyes,” she explained. “But now they are gone. I feel better.” She reached up a hand for the embroidery on which she had been working but Betty never even noticed the gesture. She was gazing at the piece of work, wide-eyed.
“Girls!” she cried. “Look at this! Isn’t it——” her voice was agitated as she held out the embroidered centerpiece to Grace. “Isn’t it the companion piece to the one you bought for your mother, Grace?”
Grace nodded dumbly, while in Mollie’s black eyes began to smolder a great excitement. And the next moment Amy, too, had grasped the significance of Betty’s question.
The little old lady sat staring from one to the other of them in puzzled bewilderment.