Then John Birge repeated his prayer, adding a few simple words.
The little silence that followed was broken by the repetition of the poor woman's one solemn sentence:
"O Lord, don't let Tode ever touch a drop of rum."
"And save me," added John Birge.
"And save me"—her lips took up the sentence—"for Jesus' sake."
"For Jesus' sake."
The next time she added these words of her own accord; and again and again was the solemn cry repeated, until there came a sudden changing of the purple shadows into solemn ashy gray, and with one half-murmured effort, "not a drop of rum" and "for Jesus' sake," the voice was forever hushed.
The neighbor watcher was the first to break the stillness.
"Well, I never in all my life!" she ejaculated, speaking solemnly. "For the land's sake! I wish every rum-seller in the world could a heard her. Well, her troubles is over, Mr. Birge. Now, what's to be done next?"
"Is she anything to you, Mary, except an acquaintance?"