Both took up their tasks in silence and plied their needles with energy,
while their thoughts were far away; but one thought of a great city
in the far-away east; the other of a bustling mining town in the nearer
west.
At last Anna spoke with a little sigh: "Amy dear, I suppose you will
be leaving us one of these days before long."
The girl answered with a loving smile: "Are you so tired of me that
you are going to send me out into the world again?"
"No, no, dear. You have a home with John and me as long as you live.
Surely you know that, don't you, Amy dear?" There was a wistful note
in the kind voice, and dropping the stocking she was darning, Anna
leaned forward and placed her hand on the arm of Amy's chair.
A rush of tears was her answer, as the girl caught the toil-stained
hand and carried it passionately to her lips. "Of course I know. Mother
forgive me; I was only 'funnin' as little Jimmie Clark says."
"But I am not 'funnin,'" replied the other. "I'm awfully in earnest."
There seemed to be a hidden meaning in her words and Amy looked at her
anxiously. "I do not understand why you think that I should leave you,"
she said earnestly.
"Because--because--I--this life must be so degrading to you. You could
live so differently at home. You must feel this keenly."
Amy looked at her steadily. "That is not your reason, Mother," she
said gently. "You know that a woman degrades herself when she does
nothing useful, and that I count my present place and work, far above
my old life at home.
Pages:
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270