Borne along by their sympathy and curiosity, Rita and Nan went in and looked on poor Hannah, stiff and uncompromising as of old, lying in her unwonted bed. She eyed them with her impenetrable gray gaze, and it was evident that the mystery of the Little Room would never be revealed by her, even if one could be bold enough to storm that granite citadel. They talked with Maria. She heard the messages from her niece in gentle silence. Rita took her passive hand and tried to tell her how they sympathized with her in her troubles, and to explain how it was they had happened to come at this time, but it evidently did not get below the surface of Maria’s consciousness. She seemed most taken with Nan, however, and to like to have her near her. Just before they left her, Rita ventured to ask if any of their gilt-edged china was saved.
‘No, I guess not,’ said Maria.
‘Did they save the blue-chintz sofa?’ impetuously asked Nan.
‘No, I didn’t hear as they did.’
‘You did have a gilt-edged china set, didn’t you?’ said Nan.
‘And a blue sofa?’ persuaded Rita.
‘I don’t seem to remember anything much,’ said Maria, with an appealing glance towards the room where Hannah lay. It would be barbarity to press her further just then.
Rita and Nan went away—not to the Adirondacks, however, but to spend a few days with Jane Peebles, who gladly acceded to their petition to be boarded there for a time.
‘Miss Peebles, where is that man Hiram who always lived at the Keys’?’ asked Rita, as Jane helped them to apple-sauce and ginger-bread at supper.
‘Hiram? I guess he’s pretty well tuckered out, what with the fire and Hannah’s stroke; he come over here this mornin’ and wanted a piece of my huckleberry pie; he said he couldn’t seem to relish any other food; he always did set a great store by my pie; it wan’t any better than what Hannah made, so fer as I could see, but he always ’lotted on havin’ the corner-piece when he brought me eggs from the farm.’