“All right,” replied Ellen. When she and Abby seated themselves, Maria withdrew, standing aloof under an oak, looking up at the illumined spread of branches with the rapt, innocent expression of a saint.
“Why don't you come and sit down with us, Maria?” Ellen called.
“In a minute,” replied Maria, in her weak, sweet voice. Then John Sargent came up and joined her.
“She'll come in a minute,” Abby said to Ellen. “She—she—knows I want to tell you something.”
Abby hesitated. Ellen regarded her with wonder.
“Look here, Ellen,” said Abby; “I don't know what you're going to think of me after all I've said, but—I'm going to get married to Willy Jones. His mother has had a little money left her, and she owns the house clear now, and I'm going to keep right on working; and—I never thought I would, Ellen, you know; but I've come to think lately that all you can get out of labor in this world is the happiness it brings you, and—the love. That's more than the money, and—he wants me pretty bad. I suppose you think I'm awful, Ellen Brewster.” Abby spoke with triumph, yet with shame. She dug her little toe into the shadow-mottled ground.
“Oh, Abby, I hope you'll be real happy,” said Ellen. Then she choked a little.
“I've made up my mind not to work for nothing,” said Abby; “I've made up my mind to get whatever work is worth in this world if I can, and—to get it for him too.”
“I hope you will be very happy,” said Ellen again.
“There he is now,” whispered Abby. She rose as Willy Jones approached, laughing confusedly. “I've been telling Ellen Brewster,” said Abby, with her perfunctory air.