As she spoke, she placed a work-reddened hand beneath a narrow strip of openwork.
“Yes, you can go home now,” in answer to a question from Selina in the kitchen.
“My, the pains she’s took on all these little things! Seems ’s if she must ’a’ been gettin’ ’em ready all these years, an’ now—” Her voice trailed off into silence.
The little clothing was laid on the bed in readiness for the morrow, and the women looked about as though hunting something more to do. Used to the busy hours of farm life, they felt impelled to some task that would occupy the passing hours.
“Let’s see if there’s anything we ought to do upstairs.”
They climbed the narrow ladderlike stairway to an unfinished half-story garretlike room above.
“MY LAND, she was house-cleanin’ this hot weather!”
Half of the stuffy little room had been thoroughly overhauled and the other end begun. A little old horse-hair trunk stood in the middle of the floor, with portions of its contents scattered about.
“I’ll bet she was goin’ to empty that for the baby’s things. I showed her mine, jes’ like it, that I fixed up for Selina when she was little.”