IV

LIFE AND DEATH


The sick woman had refused to stay in the bedroom after she had come
to her senses. She had insisted that she could not breathe, and that
she was cold and must go back to the kitchen. Her mother and Mrs. Jake
had wrapped her in blankets and drawn the high-backed wooden rocking
chair close to the stove, and here she was just established when Mrs.
Martin opened the outer door. Any one of less reliable nerves would
have betrayed the shock which the sight of such desperate illness must
have given. The pallor, the suffering, the desperate agony of the
eyes, were far worse than the calmness of death, but Mrs. Martin spoke
cheerfully, and even when her sister whispered that their patient had
been attacked by a hæmorrhage, she manifested no concern.

"How long has this be'n a-goin' on, Ad'line? Why didn't you come home
before and get doctored up? You're all run down." Mrs. Thacher looked
frightened when this questioning began, but turned her face toward her
daughter, eager to hear the answer.

"I've been sick off and on all summer," said the young woman, as if it
were almost impossible to make the effort of speaking. "See if the
baby's covered up warm, will you, Aunt 'Liza?"

"Yes, dear," said the kind-hearted woman, the tears starting to her