“I've got to iron my muslin sacque. I've got it all washed and starched.”
“Ironin' this time of day! I'd like to know what you've been doin' ever since you got up?”
“I've been getting everything in order, in case anything happened,” replied Amanda. She tried to speak with cool composure, but her voice trembled. Her dignity failed her in this unwonted excitement.
“What's goin' to happen, for the land sake?” cried Mrs. Babcock.
“I dunno. None of us know. Things do happen sometimes.”
Mrs. Babcock stared at her, half in contempt, half in alarm. “I hope you ain't had no forewarnin' that you ain't goin' to live nor anything,” said she. “If you have, I should think you'd better stay to home.”
“I ain't had no more forewarnin' than anybody,” said Amanda. “All is, there ain't nobody in the other part of the house. The Simmonses all went yesterday to make a visit at her mother's, and in case anything should happen, I'm goin' to leave things lookin' so I'm willin' anybody should see 'em.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Babcock, “I guess you couldn't leave things so you'd be willin' anybody'd see 'em if you had three men folks afoul of 'em for three days. I've got to be goin' if I git up for that four-o'clock train in the mornin'. I've made fifteen pies an' five loaves of bread, besides bakin' beans, to say nothin' of a great panful of doughnuts an' some cake. I ain't been up garret nor down cellar cleanin', an' if anything happens to me, I s'pose folks'll see some dust and cobwebs, but I've done considerable. Adoniram's goin' to take us all down in the covered wagon; he'll be round about half-past four.”
Amanda lighted Mrs. Babcock out the front door; then she returned to her tasks. She did not go to bed that night. She had put her bedroom in perfect order, and would not disturb it. She lay down on her hard parlor sofa awhile, but she slept very little. At two o'clock she kindled a fire, made some tea, and cooked an egg for her breakfast. Then she arrayed herself in her best dress. She was all ready, her bag and basket of luncheon packed and her bonnet on, at three o'clock. She sat down and folded her hands to wait, but presently started up. “I'm going to do it,” said she. “I don't care, I am. I can't feel easy unless I do.”
She got some writing-paper and pen and ink from the chimney cupboard and sat down at the table. She wrote rapidly, her lips pursed, her head to one side. Then she folded the paper, wrote on the outside, and arranged it conspicuously on the top of a leather-covered Bible on the centre of the table. “There!” said she. “It ain't regular, I s'pose, an' I ain't had any lawyer, but I guess they'd carry out my wishes if anything happened to me. I ain't got nobody but Cousin Rhoda Hill, an' Cousin Maria Bennet; an' Rhoda don't need a cent, an' Maria'd ought to have it all. This house will make her real comfortable, an' my clothes will fit her. I s'pose I'd have this dress on, but my black alpaca's pretty good. I s'pose Mis' Babcock would laugh, but I feel a good deal easier about goin'.”