Westerfelt | Page 5

couldn't quit thinkin' o'
that yaller-headed woman an' her blue eyes an' shiny store shoes. I jest
pitied 'im like he was a baby. It went on till he got sick, an' many an'

many a day he'd lie thar helpless an' look out towards the cow-lot,
wistful like, an' I knowed he was thinkin' o' that pictur'. He was lookin'
that way when he drawed his last breath. It may 'a' been jest a notion o'
mine, fer some said he was unconscious all that day, but it looked that
away to me. I nussed him through his sickness as well as I could, an'
attended to every wish he had till he passed away. Now, you know
some'n' else, Sally. You know why I never put up no rock at his grave.
The neighbors has had a lots to say about that one thing--most of 'em
sayin' I was too stingy to pay fer it, but it wasn't that, darlin'. It was jest
beca'se I had too much woman pride. When I promised the Lord to love
an' obey, it was not expected that I'd put up a rock over another
woman's man if he was dead. Sally, you are a sight more fortunate than
you think you are."
Sally rose, the steely look was still in her eyes, her face was like finely
polished granite. Mrs. Dawson got up anxiously, and together they
passed through the gate. They could see the red fire of Peter Slogan's
pipe, and the vague form of his wife standing over him.
"Now, darlin'--" began Mrs. Dawson, but Sally checked her.
"Don't talk to me any more, mother," she said, impatiently. "I want to
be quiet and think--oh, my God, have mercy on me!"
Mrs. Dawson said nothing more, and with a sinking heart she saw the
stricken child of her breast walk on into her room and close the door.
"Whar's she been?" asked Mrs. Slogan, aggressively.
"She went to git out o' re'ch o' yore tongue," said the widow,
desperately.
To this apt retort Mrs. Slogan could not reply, but it evoked an amused
laugh from her appreciative husband.
"Well, Sally didn't shorely try to do that afoot, did she?" he gurgled.
"Looks like she'd 'a' tuck a train ef sech was her intention."

Mrs. Dawson passed into the house and through the dining-room into
her own small apartment and closed the door. She lighted a tallow-dip
and placed it on the old-fashioned bureau, from which the mahogany
veneering had been peeling for years. Her coarse shoes rang harshly on
the smooth, bare floor. She sank into a stiff, hand-made chair and sat
staring into vacancy. The bend of her back had never been more
pronounced.
"The idee," she muttered, "o' my goin' over my trouble as ef that
amounted to a hill o' beans ur would be a bit o' comfort! My God, ef
some'n' ain't done to relieve Sally I'll go stark crazy, an'--an'--I could
kill 'im in cold blood, freely, so I could. Oh, my pore, helpless baby! it
seems like she never did have any rail friend but me."
She rose and crept to the window, parted the calico curtains, and peered
across the passage at her daughter's door. There was a narrow pencil of
light beneath it. "She's readin' his letters over," said the old woman, "ur
mebby she's prayin'. That's railly what I ort to be a-doin' instead o'
standin' heer tryin' to work out what's impossible fer any mortal. I
reckon ef a body jest would have enough faith--but I did have faith
till--till it quit doin' me a particle o' good. Yes, I ort to be a-prayin', and
I'll do it--funny I never thought o' that sooner. Ef God fetched a rain,
like they claim he did t'other day, shorely he'll do a little some'n' in a
case like this un."
She blew out the tallow-dip and knelt down in the darkness, and
interlaced her bony fingers.
"Lord God Almighty, King of Hosts--my Blessed Redeemer," she
began, "you know how I have suffered an' why I never could put no
grave-rock over my husband's remains; you know how I have writhed
an' twisted under that scourge, but I kin bear that now, an' more an'
more of it, but I jest cayn't have my pore little baby go through the
same, an' wuss. It don't look like it's fair--no way a body kin look at it,
for shorely one affliction of that sort in a family is enough, in all reason.
I stood mine, bein' a ol' woman, but Sally, she'll jest pine away an' die,
fer she had all her heart set on that one man. Oh, God Almighty, my
Redeemer, you that forgive the dyin' thief an' begged fer help in yore

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