Then she untied Mrs. Dawson's bonnet-strings, took off the bonnet and
shawl, and drew her back to the fire. They stood talking for a moment,
then sat down together. Mrs. Bradley, holding the shawl and bonnet in
her lap, put her arm round the old woman. Mrs. Dawson began fumbling
in the pocket of her dress. She got out her handkerchief and held it
to her face, then Mrs. Bradley began to wipe her own eyes on the corner
of her apron.
"My God!" groaned Westerfelt, as he turned away, "this is more than I
can bear!"
The next day was Sunday. It was as bright and balmy as spring.
Westerfelt slept late. When he went in to breakfast Mrs. Bradley told
him that Mrs. Dawson was out at the barn with Luke. They all intended
to go to camp-meeting that day, she said. A revival had been going on
at the meeting-house for the past week, and the congregation had
increased so much that the little building would no longer hold the
people. It had, therefore, been announced that the Sunday service
would be held at Stone Hill Camp-ground, two miles from the village on
the most picturesque of the Cohutta Valley roads.
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