One warm day in June, Mrs. Barton laid the last neatly ironed garment
on the big pile of clothes nearby, and noisily pushing her irons to
the back of the stove, cried, "Thank goodness, that's the last of that
for this week." And "Thank goodness, that's the last of that," exclaimed
Amy, mimicking the voice of her friend as she threw out the dishwater
and hung the empty pan in its place.
Anna wiped the perspiration from her steaming face. "Come on; let's
get out of this Inferno for a while and do our patching in the shade.
I shall melt if I stay here a minute longer." And the two were soon
seated in their low chairs on the cool porch, with a big basket of
mending between them.
"Hello, there's our man back from town already," suddenly exclaimed
Anna a few minutes later, as her husband drove into the barnyard; then
with a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes, she called, "Hurry up,
John, Amy wants her letter." John smiled in his quiet way as he came
up to the porch and handed the girl an envelope with the Boyd City
postmark. Then the old people both laughed at the other's pretty
confusion when Anna, rising, said in her teasing voice, "Come on hubby,
I'll fix your dinner. We've kept it warm. Can't you see the selfish
thing wants to be alone with her treasure?"
But when Mrs. Barton returned to her mending, after a long talk with
her husband, her jolly face wore an expression of seriousness that was
unusual, and she failed to notice that Amy's hands were idle and her
work was lying untouched in her lap as she sat looking wistfully far
away across the sunlit meadows and pastures.
Pages:
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269