After that the mother held her peace; but whenever she went out of that darkened room those who saw her marvelled at the light of joy in her eyes, the bloom of hope upon her cheeks. At last the time came—the bandage was removed. There was just one wild cry, “Mother, I see you!” and then George Graham lay at the doctor’s feet, swooning and helpless in his great joy.
It was weeks yet before he went home again, but the good news preceded him. The mother wrote it to Deacon Grant, who had agreed still to keep the place in his store open, while awaiting the result of this experiment.
The deacon read the letter in full family conclave, with the slow deliberation of a man unused to correspondence. He little knew how his niece longed to snatch the paper from his hand and read it for herself; nor did he heed the tears that swam in her dark eyes.
Deliberately he smoothed out the letter, and folded it. Deliberately he took off his spectacles, and wiped them, and put them on again. Then he said, with the half pompous, half solemn manner which became his position,—
“Well, well, I’m ready always to rejoice with those that rejoice; and I’m sure I’m thankful that the Widow Graham hasn’t got to struggle with so much trouble as it looked as if Providence was laying on her; but wherever she got that money the Lord knows.”
Another letter came, afterward, to tell when the widow and her son were to return, and to ask Deacon Grant, in whose keeping the key of their house had been left, to put it in their door on that day as he was passing by to the store.
It was Susie who walked over with the key, early in the afternoon, carrying with her a basket of dainties for the travellers’ supper, from Mrs. Grant, a woman who knew how to be a good neighbor, and to make life pleasant with cheap kindnesses. Susie’s black eyes danced, and her heart sang within her as she set the table in the little parlor and lighted a fire in the kitchen stove, ready to make a fresh cup of tea whenever the widow and her son should arrive. Then she dusted every thing; and then she gathered some of the flowers of September,—for already the summer was over,—and put them in the vases on the mantel, and on the widow’s little round sewing-table.
And at last the travellers came, as at last every thing does come, if we wait long enough for it. They had expected to find an empty house; they found instead, warmth and brightness and good cheer and Susie Hale.