“Father! Mother!” Mrs. Thompson was hearing her sister’s voice for the first time in twenty-five years. “Brother Thomas! Uncle Frank! Where are you?”
“She is thinking of her childhood,” said Edith in a whisper. She bent over her mother and in a calm, steady voice said:
“We are all here, mother dear—Susie and Annie and Jasper and I.”
There was silence for a moment; then the voice of the dying woman rose in keen appeal.
“Martha! Oh, I want Martha—I want Martha!”
The two sisters exchanged anxious glances.
“She means Aunt Martha Thompson,” whispered Susie; “we have not sent for her. What shall we do?”
Edith bent over the pillow.
“Mother dear——”
“I want Martha, my sister Martha!” Mrs. Hansard said impatiently, and she beat the white coverlet with her thin hand. “Martha, sister Martha, where are you?”