"Never mind, she's only a little child, a lovin' little child with a baby--and a sorrow. But you'll come and see your Mary in her eyes, and she'll have a mother and you a daughter again, and you'll both find happiness in each other. She needs you, Mis' Abbott, and you need her--Say you'll come."

The old lady looked for a moment into Drusilla's eyes; then she broke into the hysterical sobbing of the old and helpless.

"I didn't think no one needed me--no one wanted me. I thought I jest c.u.mbered up the earth. Drusilla, do you think she really needs me, that any one really needs me, that I don't have to be a burden the rest of my days? Oh, if I thought some one wanted me--Perhaps it's my Mary come back to me--my Mary--my little girl--my little girl--"

Drusilla let her cry, patting her hand softly from time to time.

Then, when the storm had spent itself, she said:

"Yes, it's your Mary come back to you. Don't you remember that you said your Mary had brown eyes--"

"Yes,--yes--" and eager fingers were tugging at an old-fashioned locket hanging to a slender chain around her neck. "See--here she is --her eyes are brown and her hair all curled around her face, and her lips was just like a rose--and her face--oh, her pretty face--"

Drusilla studied the picture carefully.

"Yes, it's jest like this other Mary. Her hair is all in little curls around her face and her brown eyes jest like a child's, a wonderin' child's whose waitin' for her mother."

The old lady rose from the bed.

"Can I go now, Drusilla? Can I go _now?"_

"Are you well enough? Can you stand the trip?"

Mrs. Abbott laughed.

"Only sorrow makes one feeble, sorrow and loneliness; but hope makes one strong, and I got hope again--I want to live, Drusilla--I want to _live!"_

CHAPTER XVI

"John," Drusilla's hand carefully opened the door and Drusilla's head peered warily into the opening, "Are you alone? Has he gone?"

She looked around the room. "Yes, he's gone. I'll come in." She closed the door behind her and came to her favorite seat before the fire.

"John, I didn't adopt the Reverend Algernon Thompson, did I?"

"Why, no, Drusilla; I don't think you adopted him. Why?"

"Well," breathing a sigh of relief, "I'm glad to hear you say it. I didn't know but that night when I was so relieved and so scared about puttin' him in jail, that I hadn't said more'n I meant. I know I asked him to come and stop here whenever he come to New York, but I didn't mean to _live_ here. I don't see how his church gits along without him so much."

"What's the matter with the Reverend Algernon, Drusilla? I like him.

His knowledge of chivalry is--"

"Yes, I know you two pore over them old books and study them tin men, and he seems to be a great comfort to you. But he ain't no comfort to me, John. I guess I'm gittin' old and finicky. I jest can't put my finger on the spot that riles me, but that man riles me.

He's always so good and so sort of angelic, and I don't like people who are too good. A man without a few failin's is like underclothes without trimmin', useful but uninterestin', and--and--then, John, he's one of them fussy little men who's always puffin' around and never doin' nothin' worth while, just like a little engine in a switchyard that snorts and puffs and makes a lot of noise pullin' a dump-wagon. And--then, sometimes, I wonder about his religion, he's so narrer, he's got lots of religion but not so much Christianity. He kind of thinks that Heaven's goin' to be made up of him and a few Presbyterians, mainly from his congregation. He kind of seems to think that Heaven's going to be a special place for him where he'll strut around the only rooster and his flock'll foller after singin'

praises to him instead of to the Almighty."

"Why, Drusilla, I thought you said when he was so interested in those children of his parish that he ought to be a very good man."

"So he ought to be a good man, and a man's legs ought to reach from his body to the ground but sometimes he has one short leg that don't quite tech. Now the Reverend wasn't interested so much in takin' care of them children as he was in showin' how he could raise money. I remember when I was in the Ladies' Aid of the Presbyterian Church and we made clothes for the heathen, we wasn't so much interested in clothing the heathen as we was that we had a bigger box at the end of the year than the Baptists had. Just as when some of these societies git to raisin' money for the poor or for some new buildin' or something, and they divide their 'raisers' up in bands, the people who ask you for subscriptions fergit what it is for in their hurry to show that they raised more'n some other band."

"I'm afraid, Drusilla, that Mr. Thompson has got on to your nerves."

"I ain't got no nerves, John. I leave that for women with husbands to work 'em off on. I don't know what it is with this preacher. He's a good man accordin' to his lights, but he makes me fidgety a rumblin' away about his work and his creeds and things like a volcano that don't never blow up. I wish he'd let off a little steam once in a while, or spit out a few rocks and stones jest to liven up things a bit."

"I'll admit he is a little bit self-centered."

"What's that? Oh, you mean he's got ingrowin' feelings. Yes, everythin' that he has to do with is big. Why, John, he's the kind of a man that'd entertain his wife by talkin' about his corns, and think it interestin' because they was his'n."

John laughed.

"Perhaps if he was married and had a wife to tell him a few things--"

"John--John!" Drusilla sat up very suddenly in her chair. "Why didn't I think of her before?"

"Think of whom, Drusilla? I thought we were talking about the Reverend Algernon, and he's a _he."_

"Sarah Lee."

"Sarah Lee? I don't follow you, Drusilla."

"John, some men are ugly, most men are conceited, and all men are thick-headed, and you're a _man_. Think of what a wife she'd make him!"

"Why, Drusilla!" John looked a little dazed. "I thought--I thought you didn't care especially for Sarah Lee. I heard you, if I remember rightly--"

"Never mind, John. Your memory's too long to be convenient. Never mind what I said--I take it all back. She's jest the wife for him.

They jest fit together. They ain't neither one of 'em got a sense of humor. She's the kind of a woman who'd tell him a funny story when he's shavin', and he's the kind of a man that'd ask her where she put his clean shirt when she was doin' up her back hair with her mouth full of pins. It'd be too bad to spile two good families with 'em."

"But, Drusilla, they're neither one of them thinking about getting married. Perhaps they don't want to."

"Shows how little you know about human natur', John, especially woman human natur'. Sarah Lee'd jump at the chance. She'd been settin' in the station for a long time waitin' for the express to pick her up; now she'd be willin' to take a slow freight."

"Well, she might do worse. He's likely and healthy--"

"Humph--so's an onion. But he's a good man, John, and I trust Sarah to make him over into anything she wants. She's a managin' woman."

"But--but, Drusilla, I don't think he wants to get married, even if she does."

"Of course he don't. No man does; they have to be led up to it."

"Well, I don't know about this. He might not want Sarah. He looks to me like a man who knows his own mind."

"He ain't got a wide acquaintance if it's all he knows. But I mustn't be mean. 'Cause I couldn't live with him ain't no reason that a lot of women couldn't stand him. He's been a batch too long and always had his own way, and he's been a preacher where he could talk to people and they da.s.sent talk back, but Sarah'd change all that, and make him real human before a year was past. I'm glad you thought of it, John."

John looked up, surprised.

"Me? Drusilla! It never entered my head."