CHAPTER XX
"GIVING IN MARRIAGE"
In a similar cottage on one side of old Ambrose Thompson, as has already been explained, there now dwelt the single departing spinster, Elizabeth Horton, whom Uncle Ambrose regarded as a newcomer, her occupancy lying somewhat within the period of twenty years, while on the other side there still remained his youthful enemy, Susan Barrows. Not Mrs. Susan Barrows, Sr., because of course some years before that old lady had been translated to that country where we hope all human curiosity may be satisfied, but her daughter, Susan Jr.; a little prying, spiteful girl she would always remain to Ambrose, although now a married woman past middle age, with grown-up children of her own.
And among her other inheritances she claimed an interfering interest in the old man's mode of life.
Now a set of signals having been arranged between them in case of urgent need on his part, at about six o'clock the next morning Susan was aroused by a violent knocking on his wall on the side of the house next hers, and hurrying over she found the old man lying half dressed on his bed and groaning with pain.
"Seems like I can't turn over or move or draw long breath, Susan Jr.," he gasped. "'Course I know I got my feet wet; 'tain't no use of you startin' in on that. I've got the lumbago, but bein's as I feel I mayn't be able to git up fer a right smart spell you'd better step next door and tell that old maid 'Lizabeth to come over here and look after me. She ain't no kith and kin to keep her busy like you."
Susan eyed her old neighbour narrowly; she never had and never would be able wholly to trust him, but now his fine old wrinkled face seemed to be twisting with pain and his nose and lips twitching.
"'Lizabeth can't come, you know it well as I do, Ambrose Thompson," she replied. "I've just got to do the best fer you I kin, though it ain't noways convenient to me. This comes from you tryin' to live alone 'cause Aunt Ca'line and the others who used to see to you is passed. 'Lizabeth Horton is movin' within a few hours, bein' turned out of her house, bag and baggage," and there was such richness of superiority in Susan Jr.'s voice, the kind of superiority which the prosperous always feel in the presence of the unprosperous, that the old man longed to shake her.