Chapter XV

"Then, you don't think it would be hard to economize?"

"Daphne, you won't have to economize on love, and with lots of that you won't miss the other things. Now, Daphne, I suppose I shouldn't meddle in this, it ain't none of my business, but I like Dr. Eaton, and I more'n like you, and I don't want you to make a mistake. Dr. Eaton won't promise you a life of roses and leave you to pull out all the thorns. I know him. And I jest want you two young things to share the very best things in life when you're young, and when you grow old together you won't see the bald spot on his head gittin' bigger, and he won't see your gray hairs a-comin', 'cause you won't ever be lookin' above each other's eyes. You know, Daphne, I'm seventy years old and I've looked on lots of things with my old eyes, and it ain't always the rich that have found the most precious jewel; it's the poor couple who've got just enough to live on--and each other."

Daphne smiled up at Drusilla.

"Oh, Miss Doane, you make it seem so heavenly!"

"Yes, it is Heaven, and love is the bridge that you cross on, and when you git across you can't always be singin' the weddin'-march --but afterwards--well, you can hum a lullaby.

"Now we're comin' to the house"--as they turned into the drive-- "and I jest want to say this, dear--" She took Daphne's face in her two hands and looked into her eyes. "Life is a wonderful garden, dear, a garden where the air is filled with perfume, a garden filled with flowers, with heart's-ease and forget-me-nots, and if you wander down its moonlit pathway with your loved one's hand in yours, you're bound to find the enchanted palace where love's dream comes true--So dream, my dear, jest dream.

"Now, there's Miss Smith," as the motor stopped. "How do you do, Mis' Smith? How do you do, Barbara? You was lookin' for me? Yes, I come jest as soon as I could. How is Mis' Abbott? Take them baskets on the porch, and that bundle goes upstairs. Can I go up and see Mis' Abbott?"

"Yes, come right up. I told her you were coming, but she says she won't see you. But I think she will," said Mrs. Smith.

"Of course she will. I'm comin' right along. Daphne, you go out on the porch there with the ladies and open them baskets. I worked half the night and kept the cook up the other half to get the things ready. The names is on the things. You give 'em to the ladies, and jest stay and let 'em look at you. It'll be a treat as good as the things in the baskets."

She followed Barbara up the long stairs. At the door she turned.

"Don't come in, Barbara; I'll go in alone." And she went into the "best" room of the home, because Mrs. Abbott had been able to pay a little more than that paid by the other guests.

Drusilla found the little woman in bed, with her face turned to the wall. She did not move until Drusilla put her hand on her shoulder.

"I've come to see you, Mis' Abbott."

The woman looked up at Drusilla a moment, then put her faded old hands over her face.

"I don't want to see you, Drusilla, I don't want to see you."

"Pshaw, now," answered Drusilla, "yes, you do, Mis' Abbott. I come jest a purpose to see you."

"Oh, but I don't want to see you," wailed the feeble old voice. "I always called you 'charity' and now I'm charity myself. I wish I could die, I wish I could die!"

"No, you don't," said Drusilla softly. "You want to live and you're glad to see me."

"I ain't! I tell you, I ain't! I called you charity!"

"Yes, but I didn't mind, and if I hadn't been charity, Elias Doane wouldn't 'a' found me, and I wouldn't be here goin' to take you home with me."

"What!" said the old lady, looking up. "What'd you say, Drusilla?"

"I said I'm goin' to take you home with me."

"You are--you are--going to take me away from here--here where all the ladies'll laugh at me because I'm charity? But--but--Oh, I'll have to come back again even if you do take me, I'll have to come back again and be--Oh, I want to die--I'd rather die!"

Drusilla took the hands from the wrinkled face and held them in her own.

"Now let me set here on the edge of the bed, and you listen to me, Mis' Abbott. When I got Barbara's letter last night, I jest set for hours thinkin' it all over, and it all come to me of a sudden. Why, I need you so bad, Mis' Abbott, I wonder how I got along without you all this time. You know I got a lot of young people at my house, and no one with sense but myself to watch over them, and we need some one like yourself bad, and if you won't come I'll have to look around for some one else, and it'll put me to a lot of trouble."

The old lady looked up wonderingly.

"But what can I do, Drusilla?"

"Oh, there's lots of things you kin do, but one thing special. When I went into the nursery last night and saw Mary Allen settin' there alone by the window, I said to myself, 'Mary needs a mother. She don't ever remember havin' a mother, and then I remembered you lost your little girl most forty years ago, and if she'd 'a' growed up she might 'a' had a little girl like Mary, and I want you to come and be a mother to my Mary and a grandmother to her baby."

"Oh, is she grown up and married?"

"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 cumbered 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!"

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