"Mamma is tired, dear," I said; "come away."
She was lying quite still when I had done what was to be done for the child, and had come back. The room was nearly dark. I sat down on my cricket by her sofa.
"Did you find the sack-trimming?" I ventured, after a pause.
"I believe so,—yes."
She drew a little package from her pocket, held it a moment, then let it roll to the floor forgotten. When I picked it up, the soft, tissue-paper wrapper was wet and hot with tears.
"Mary?"
"Yes."
"I never thought of the little trimming till the last minute. I had another errand."
I waited.
