And what did she do but begin to cry, and such a long crying I never saw
anybody have. I knew there was a lot to come out and she'd better get
rid of it, so I let it keep on without remarks, and after a while she
told me to shut the door, and get her a clean handkerchief out of her
top bureau-drawer.

I did it. Then she told me to sit down. I did that, too, and it's well I
did. If I hadn't I'd have fell. Her words would have made me.

"Mary Cary," she said, "you have given me a great deal of trouble, and
at times you've nearly worried me to death. But never since you've been
here have you ever told a story, and that's what I've done." And she put
her head down in her pillow, and I tell you she nearly shook herself,
out of bed she cried so.

I was so surprised and confused I didn't know whether I was awake or
asleep. But all of a sudden it came to me what she meant, and I put my
arms around her neck and kissed her. That's what I did, Martha or no
Martha; I kissed her. Then I said:

"Miss Bray, I'm awful glad you are sorry you did it. If you're sorry
it's like a sponge that wipes it off, and don't anybody but you and me
and God know about that particular one. And we can all forget it, if
there's never any more."

And then she cried harder than ever. Regular rivers. I didn't know the
top of your head could hold so much water.

But she said there would never be any more, for she'd never had any