“How did Mary Ann take it?” said Mrs. Johnson, wiping her eyes.
“Laws, she tuk on like all possessed, 234 cried and hollered till I thought she’d go inter fits; but somehow I felt sorrier for the ole man. He’d stan’ an’ look at the pore thing after she was laid out, an’ the big tears’d run down his wrinkled face, an’ he says to me, ‘She’s too good fur this world, Nancy, Rhody was.’”
Just then the brakeman shouted the name of the town at which I was to stop, and I must gather up my traps. I leaned over and whispered to “Aunt Nancy,” “What did poor Jim do?”
The old lady’s face flushed. “Was you a-listenin’?” says she.
“I couldn’t help it,” I said. “Poor Rhoda! But what about Jim, Aunt Nancy?”
“This way, Madam,” said the conductor briskly. “Let me have your valise.”
“Jim?” she whispered excitedly, “he like to went wild, but he was mighty quiet, an’ soon’s the funeral was over he sold everything he had and went to Californy.”
“Did he forgive his mother?” I asked, but the conductor took my arm and marched me out, and to this day I am wondering about “Jim” and his mother and “ole man Curtis.” If I knew where “Aunt Nancy” lived, I would write to her.
