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.
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