Wings fluttered; the sparrows began a persistent twitter.
Light was creeping in under the shades. She returned to the table, stared at it, frowning, drew away quickly, ran to the door, and glanced back breathlessly. She walked back slowly, turned the papers over, peered into the drawer to make sure that she had overlooked nothing.
She took up the wills that recorded Timothy Farley’s doubts and uncertainties and wavering generosities, dropped them into the little well in the table and drew the top into place.
A feeling of exaltation possessed her as she heard the click of the spring. This, perhaps, was the reward of righteousness. “We’re all happier,” the simple-hearted Mrs. Farley used to say, “when we’re good!”
She stood very still for a minute, stifling her last regret. Then she turned to the window and opened it, unfastened the shutters, and thrust her hands out into the gray light. A farmer’s wagon, bound for market, passed slowly by, the driver asleep with a lighted lantern on the seat beside him.
She remained there for a quarter of an hour listening to the first tentative sounds of the new day. The newspaper carrier threw the morning paper against the door beneath the window, unconscious that she saw him. She closed the window, crept back to her room and threw herself exhausted on her bed....
Outside Farley’s windows the sparrows chirruped impatiently for crumbs from the hand that would feed them no more.
CHAPTER XIX
NOT ACCORDING TO LAW
Nan was reading the newspaper report of Eaton’s speech over her coffee when at nine o’clock he called her on the telephone.
“Your speech sounds fine, though I don’t understand all the jokes,” she said. “But I’m sure you made a hit.”