"Certainly, Sary," came from Mrs. Brewster, who now joined the two. "It's not the color or quantity of clothes as much as the sincerity of one's mourning."
Quite unintentionally, Mrs. Brewster touched upon a tender spot. In fact, so tender was it, that Sary blamed Bill for having died so recently instead of two years back. She might have now been ending her second year of mourning!
Eleanor being trained to the wiles of polite society, saw and understood Sary's flash of resentment, so she turned to Mrs. Brewster with the remark:
"I've heard said, that the highest regard a widow can pay her departed, is, to take a second husband. It speaks well for her happiness with the first one, you see."
Mrs. Brewster stared at Eleanor but Sary smirked and quickly replied:
"You-all is right, Miss Nolla! A widder what hez ben so happy that she gits lonesome whiles thinkin' of her departed, hez a right t' find a second husban'."
Mrs. Brewster choked a laugh as she saw the sublime look in the help's eyes, and hurried out. Eleanor then suggested:
"Now you run away and beautify yourself, Sary, and I will wash the dishes to-night."
Sary needed no second invitation and in another moment she had disappeared to her "boudoir" back of the buttery.
Eleanor was as good as her word, for she was soon busy with dish-water and mop, rattling the china, and banging pans about as if noise and bustle were sure signs of hard work and energy. Polly laughed as she cleared away the remains of the meal and then caught up a towel to dry the dishes. As they worked the two girls talked.