As I ran, I stopped in to Mis’ Beach’s house and asked for something. “Oh, Mis’ Beach,” I says, “Oh, David! Will you let me take something? Will you let me borrow the clock you put together without anybody telling you how? Just for this evening?”
They said they would and they didn’t question that, particular, either. And I took the clock. And being David was going for the yeast, he came out with me, and we went on together. He ran beside me, the little lad, with his hand in mine. And as I ran, it seemed to me that I wasn’t Calliope Marsh any more, but that I was the immemorial woman, running with the immemorial child, toward the hope of the better thing, always the better thing.
Past the Post-Office Hall I went, already lighted for the Business Meeting, and on to Abigail Arnold’s Home Bakery.
Abigail was sitting, dressed and ready, with her list in her hand. But when she saw me she burst out with some strange excitement in her face:
“Calliope!” she says. “Silas has been here. He said you hadn’t handed in your report. I—I don’t think he expects you to go to the meeting. I know he didn’t expect me.”
“Didn’t he now?” I says. “Very well then, he didn’t. Are you ready?”
“But, Calliope——” says she.
“Are you a business woman in this town, or are you not?” I asked her.
Abigail has had her Bakery for twenty years now, and has paid off its mortgage that her husband bequeathed her.
“Come,” says I. And she did.