Then Mercy Crane worked steadily for a short time without looking up,
until the desired friend was crossing the grass between the dusty road
and the steps. The visitor was out of breath, and did not respond to
the polite greeting of her hostess until she had recovered herself to
her satisfaction. Mrs. Crane made her the kind offer of a glass of
water or a few peppermints, but was answered only by a shake of the
head, so she resumed her work for a time until the silence should be
broken.
"I have come from the house of mourning," said Sarah Ellen Dow at
last, unexpectedly.
"You don't tell me that Sister Barsett"--
"She's left us this time, she's really gone," and the excited
news-bringer burst into tears. The poor soul was completely
overwrought; she looked tired and wan, as if she had spent her forces
in sympathy as well as hard work. She felt in her great bundle for a
pocket handkerchief, but was not successful in the search, and finally
produced a faded gingham apron with long, narrow strings, with which
she hastily dried her tears. The sad news appealed also to Mercy
Crane, who looked across to the apple-trees, and could not see them
for a dazzle of tears in her own eyes. The spectacle of Sarah Ellen
Dow going home with her humble workaday possessions, from the house
where she had gone in haste only a few days before to care for a sick
person well known to them both, was a very sad sight.
"You sent word yesterday that you should be returnin' early this
afternoon, and would stop.
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