A Spinner in the Sun | Page 8

to discover that at last her
hostess was interested. "Doctor Anthony Dexter, our old schoolmate, as
had just graduated when you lived here before. He went away for a
year and then he came back, bringing a pretty young wife. She's dead,
but he has a son, Ralph, who's away studying to be a doctor. He'll
graduate this Spring and then he's coming here to help his father with
his practice. Doctor Dexter's getting old, like the rest of us, and he don't
like the night work. Some folks is inconsiderate enough to get sick in
the night. They orter have regular hours for it, same as a doctor has

hours for business. Things would fit better.
"Well, I must be going, for I left soup on the stove, and Araminta's
likely as not to let it burn. I'm going to send your supper over to you,
and next week, if the weather's favourable, we'll clean this house.
Goodness knows it needs it. I'd just as soon send over all your meals till
you get settled--'t wouldn't be any trouble. Or, you can come over to
my house if you wouldn't mind eating with the minister. It seems queer
to set down to the table with a man, and not altogether natural, but I'm
beginning to get used to it, and it gives us the advantage of a blessing,
and, anyway, ministers don't count. Come over when you can.
Goodbye!"
With a rustle of stiffly starched garments Miss Mehitable took her
departure, carefully closing the door and avoiding the appearance of
haste. This was an effort, for every fibre of her being ached to get back
to the clearing house, where she might speculate upon Evelina's return.
It was her desire, also, to hunt up the oldest inhabitant before nightfall
and correct her pitiful lapse of memory.
At the same time, she was planning to send Araminta over with a nice
hot supper, for Miss Evelina seemed to be far from strong, and, even to
one lacking in discernment, acutely unhappy.
Down the road she went, her head bowed in deep and fruitless thought.
Swiftly, as in a lightning flash, and without premonition, she
remembered.
"Evelina was burnt," she said to herself, triumphantly, "over to Doctor
Dexter's, and they took her on the train to the hospital. I guess she
wears that veil all the time."
Then Miss Hitty stopped at her own gate, catching her breath quickly.
"She must have been burnt awful," she thought. "Poor soul!" she
murmured, her sharp eyes softening with tears. "Poor soul!"

III
The Pearls
A rap at the door roused Miss Evelina from a deadly stupor which
seemed stabbed through with daggers of pain. She sat quite still,
determined not to open the door. Presently, she heard the sound of
retreating footsteps, and was reassured. Then she saw a bit of folded
paper which had been slipped under the door, and, mechanically, she

picked it up.
"Here's your supper," the note read, briefly. "When you get done, leave
the tray outside. I'll come and get it. I would like to have you come
over if you want to.--Mehitable Smith."
Touched by the unexpected kindness, Miss Evelina took in the tray.
There was a bowl of soup, steaming hot, a baked potato, a bit of thin
steak, fried, in country fashion, two crisp, buttered rolls, and a pot of
tea. Faint and sick of heart, she pushed it aside, then in simple justice to
Miss Hitty, tasted of the soup. A little later, she put the tray out on the
doorstep again, having eaten as she had not eaten for months.
She considered the chain of circumstances that had led her back to
Rushton. First, the knowledge that Doctor Dexter had left the place for
good. She had heard of that, long ago, but, until now, no one had told
her that he had returned. She had thought it impossible for him ever to
return--even to think of it again,
Otherwise--here the thread of her thought snapped, and she clutched at
the vial of laudanum which, as always, was in the bag at her belt. She
perceived that the way of escape was closed to her. Broken in spirit
though she was, she was yet too proud to die like a dog at Anthony
Dexter's door, even after five-and-twenty years.
Bitterest need alone had driven her to take the step which she so keenly
regretted now. The death of her mother, hastened by misfortune, had
left her with a small but certain income, paid regularly from two
separate sources. One source had failed without warning, and her
slender legacy was cut literally in two. Upon the remaining half she
must eke out the rest of her existence, if she continued to exist at all. It