At half past three, Miss Mary took up some crocheting. The Arundel baby would need new petticoats in the spring, and Miss Mary realized that new petticoats, and the lace for them, if any were had, would have to come from her. But the thread clung to her fingers, the needle slipped from her hand.
“It’s the rheumatism,” she said to herself, grimly. “Old age is here.”
At four o’clock Miss Mary took a book, and in three minutes laid it down. It was one of Cousin John’s books.
“I am a goose,” she announced aloud to her quiet house. “I could even buy a few books for myself and make shift to subscribe to a few magazines if the box does not come. But,”—here Miss Mary covered her face with her hands—“it will mean that I am alone in the world!”
At half past four Miss Mary began to prepare supper, though she usually ate at six. She no longer made excuses to herself; she did not pretend that she was having supper early so as to make the evening long; she sought only to fill the next minute and the next; she was reckless about the later hours.
The evening train came in at six. It was only a country way train with a short run, and it was on time, even on Christmas Eve. With a great jump of her heart, Miss Mary heard its familiar whistle. Allowing for all James Vanderslice’s slowness, he should reach her house in fifteen minutes. It was probable that hers would be the only package he would have to deliver.
Moving with a slow step, she descended to the cellar and put coal on the furnace fire. Temptingly, mockingly, the hammer and screwdriver seemed to thrust themselves to the top of the tool box on the table which she had to pass. Miss Mary did not touch them. She played the part of expecting nothing.
When Miss Mary came up from the cellar, the hands of the clock pointed to twenty minutes after six. She grew red, then pale. Then she opened the door and stood with the rain beating against her. The street was dark and quiet.
“He must come,” whispered Miss Mary.
But the expressman did not come. When Miss Mary went indoors, it was half past six. Until seven she walked up and down her sitting-room. Then her lips tightened.