Jane alone remained at home, and it was
she who helped her mother through the thirtieth and last of the
annual jelly-makings. For the first time in all these years the
entire supply of currants had come from outside; the last of their own
bushes, which had put on faintly its customary greenness in May, had
peaked and dwindled through June, and had died at last in the early days
of July.
"That reconciles me, Jane," said Eliza Marshall, as she viewed the dead
bush while flapping one of her ensanguined cloths from the kitchen
window; "I shall be ready to move when the time comes."
Jane sighed softly for reply; she was beginning to realize what all this
change might mean.
David Marshall himself bowed to the same stringent discipline that ruled
the others. Though he felt his powers weakening beneath days of worry and
nights of broken rest, he would have been surprised by the smallest
concession, and would even have considered it a weakness to ask for any.
That his rest was broken did not postpone the early breakfast by a single
five minutes; that his health was failing did not alter the somewhat
primitive and rigorous character of the dishes set before him; that he
returned home jaded and exhausted by the day's doings did not entitle
him, any more than ever, to smoke a quiet cigar within doors. He smoked
without, upon the sidewalk, according to his wont; but he never paced
very far up or down, nor very long. The old routine went on--a little too
inexorably.
Pages:
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310