If it wasn't for Christopher I
wouldn't be anyways unwilling to die. When one has had such a
life as I've had, there isn't much in death to be afraid of.
Only, a body would like to go right off, and not die by inches,
like this. 'Tain't fair!"
She snapped out the last sentence as if addressing some unseen,
tyrannical presence; her voice, at least, had not weakened, but
was as clear and incisive as ever. The boy at the window stopped
whistling, and the girl silently wiped her eyes on her faded
gingham apron.
Naomi drew her own hair over her lips, and kissed it.
"You'll never have hair like that, Eunice," she said. "It does
seem most too pretty to bury, doesn't it? Mind you see that it
is fixed nice when I'm laid out. Comb it right up on my head and
braid it there."
A sound, such as might be wrung from a suffering animal, came
from the girl, but at the same moment the door opened and a woman
entered.
"Chris," she said sharply, "you get right off for the cows, you
lazy little scamp! You knew right well you had to go for them,
and here you've been idling, and me looking high and low for you.
Make haste now; it's ridiculous late."
The boy pulled in his head and scowled at his aunt, but he dared
not disobey, and went out slowly with a sulky mutter.
His aunt subdued a movement, that might have developed into a
sound box on his ears, with a rather frightened glance at the
bed.
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