Anna, too, heard Abner singing, as she knelt in front of the basket where the mother cat lay with her four blind kittens. "You see, Tabby," she said, "people still sing. A lot of them learned to sing in the war, and now they're home, they may as well sing as cry. Oh, Tabby, I wanted to sing, too . . . now look at me.
"I went out so grand," she said. "I was going to find all sorts of things. But what did I find?"
At that moment, John Henry entered the barn, smoking his corncob pipe. When the smell of smoke reached Anna, she grew weak and ill, and stumbling back to the house, went upstairs to rest. But even to climb the stairs made her catch her breath. Now, before breakfast of a morning, she was deathly sick; afterwards she was tired, and ready to cry over anything. Poor Anna; she was dumb with shame. "I'm worse than Mrs. Wicket," she said to herself, over and over again. "I'm worse than Mrs. Wicket. My life is ruined. I'd be better dead."
And what of honest Thomas? He was pale with fright. It seemed to him as if the devil had reached up, and caught him by the leg. He was in for it. But like a fly in a web, he could not believe that it was not some other fly. "Oh, God," he prayed, "look down . . . say something to me."
When Mr. Jeminy was told that Thomas Frye and Anna Barly were to be married, he exclaimed: "What a shame.
"Yes," he continued with energy, "what a shame, Mrs. Grumble. They did as they were bid. Now they know that love is a trap to catch the young, and tie them up once and for all, close to the kitchen sink."
"No one bade them do what they'd no right to do," said Mrs. Grumble.
"They did," replied Mr. Jeminy sensibly, "only what they were meant to do. Youth was not made for the chimney corner, Mrs. Grumble. And love is not all one piece. We make it so, because we are timid and indolent. We like to think that one rule fits everything; that everything is simple and familiar. Even God, Mrs. Grumble, in your opinion, is an old man, like myself."
"He is not," said Mrs. Grumble.
"Yes," continued Mr. Jeminy, "you believe that God is an old man, insulted by everything. Now he has been insulted by Anna Barly, who did as she had a mind to. Well, well . . ."