The farmer had not even made a will in her favor. He had not left her one penny. She stayed on as paid housekeeper, the conclave of relatives deciding that it would be best. Mrs. Turle, the dead man’s sister, paid her quarterly. She stayed on. She managed the farm until Jethro grew up. She managed Jethro—had never left off managing him. She was a masterful woman.
And now she was to be put aside, like the pair of china figures which had lost an arm apiece, and which stared at each other hopelessly on their dim attic shelf.
Jethro came out from the closet, looking handsome and happy. Pamela, still on the chair, was softly humming a gay little air.
Gainah struggled up from the sofa. She looked at Jethro. She moved her dry pale lips, and moved her oddly-dressed brown head too. She wanted to speak to him—to implore, to insist. But the words strangled in her throat at the sight of his exultant face and shining eyes.
It was useless for age to pit itself against youth. Her time was past. She knew, although it was gall to admit it, that the girl she hated had Nature on her side. All her comparisons were drawn from Nature; her untiring energy of pickle and preserve making had gone hand-in-hand with Nature.
Didn’t the old potatoes rot off to make room for the new? Wasn’t it natural?
Her feet moved slowly over the carpet. It had been her choice nearly thirty-five years before. But it was hardly worn; they rarely used the keeping-room.
She went into the garden. She looked at the brown stalks of the summer’s annuals in her borders. They were dead, dry—only fit for the waste-heap. Yet their young seedlings were green and vigorous. It was all so simple, so natural. Yet—yet! She was far too practical, too mentally sluggish, to put the half-formed thought into clear shape. They were only fit for the waste-heap—but did they want to go there? Wasn’t there some dumb, desperate struggle against extinction going on between those brown, sadly swaying stalks?
Then she saw a wagonette pull up at the white gate, saw a head of rich red hair between the poplars, and hurried indoors to put on her black silk gown.