With a spasmodic movement
she jerked herself to her feet, and stood there motionless save for the
wistful sweep of her eyes about the room.
A level ray from the setting sun shot through the window, gilding the
silver of her hair and deepening the faint pink of her cheek; on the
opposite wall it threw a sharp silhouette of the alert little figure--
that figure which even the passage of years had been able to bend so
very little to its will. For a moment the lace kerchief folded across
the black gown rose and fell tumultuously; then its wearer crossed the
room and seated herself with uncompromising discomfort in the only
straight-backed chair the room contained. This done, Mrs. Nancy
Wetherby, for the twentieth time, went over in her mind the whole
matter.
For two weeks, now, she had been a member of her son John's family--two
vain, unprofitable weeks. When before that had the sunset found her
night after night with hands limp from a long day of idleness? When
before that had the sunrise found her morning after morning with a mind
destitute of worthy aim or helpful plan for the coming twelve hours?
When, indeed?
Not in her girlhood, not even in her childhood, had there been days of
such utter uselessness--rag dolls and mud pies need
some care! As
for her married life, there were Eben, the babies, the house, the
church--and how absolutely necessary she had been to each one!
The babies had quickly grown to stalwart men and sweet-faced women who
had as quickly left the home nest and built new nests of their own.
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