Anne smiled. “Help me a little.”
The hand she met with hers was strong, well-modeled, and—if tanned by sun, and showing signs of toil in the broken nails—was, like the gown, scrupulously clean. Dorothy wore no head-cover, and her hair, which was fine and abundant, lay in flat, old-fashioned style on her temples, and was caught back in an ample and perfectly neat coil. Again, as Anne rose, the look of repose on Dorothy’s face, and also the absence of lines of care, struck her no less than the regularity of features. There was none of the slouch of labor; Dorothy sat erect, without touching the back of the chair; a woman of fifty or over, and still keeping many of the gracious curves of feminine maturity.
But what interested Anne most in Mrs. Maybrook as they moved about the room—which was hall, dining-room, and sitting-room—was her simple pleasure in the white curtains Mrs. Lyndsay had tied up with gay ribbons, the cane seats, and the covers of light Eastern stuffs, not very remarkable or costly, but, as it seemed, pleasing to the visitor. Anne thought she would have noticed the books, but of these she made no mention, albeit the collection was odd enough, because every one had brought what they liked, and the cleverly built book-shelves Pierre had made were full to overflow.
Very soon Mrs. Lyndsay appeared, gave the visitor a more than usually warm welcome, and at last asked about the Colketts and the child.
“It died last night,” said Mrs. Maybrook. “I was up there pretty early to-day. They’re awful hard folks to help any; it’s like setting up ten-pins, and down they go, in a minute. Hiram says they haven’t any ‘gitalongativeness.’ That’s a great word with Hiram.”
“Do they want help? What is there we can do?” said Mrs. Lyndsay.
“I wouldn’t know to tell you. Oh, dear, if I was that man, I’d drink, too.”
“No! No!”
“Yes, I’d drink! He did, some, yesterday; but I judge he’s taken none since Mr. Lyndsay was there. The fact is, Mrs. Lyndsay, Susan Colkett cared more for those children of hers than for her first man or Colkett, or anybody else, except herself. She’s just savage now, like a bear that has had its cubs taken away. And the worst of it is, she hasn’t got the means of wisdom in her, and never had, or else she’d have seen you can’t live in a pigsty and bring up live children. Oh! You were asking if they want anything?”
“Yes, Dorothy.”