Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

“ Esther Gay had never been so miserable in her life as she was for the three months after Lavinia Dodge left her home. She thought of her, she watched Hatty, and she knitted. Hatty was at last beginning to show the effects of her long worry. She looked badly, and the neighbors began speaking about it to her grandmother. The old woman seemed to resent it when they did. At times she scolded the girl, at times she tried to pet her, and she knitted constantly, week-days and Sundays. ”

“ My rheumatism has been worse lately. It's been hard work for me to crawl round and wait on mother. I've got to go. Oh, Esther, it's awful to think I can't die in my own home. Now I've got—to die in the poor-house. I've—got—to die in the poor-house.”
“I've got to go now,” said Esther.
“Don't go; you ain't but jest come. I 'ain't got a soul to speak to.”
“I'll come in agin arter supper,” said Esther, and went out resolutely, with Lavinia wailing after her to come back.
At home, she sat down and deliberated. She had a long talk with Hatty when she returned. ”

“ Esther sat up straight. She seemed to bristle out suddenly with points, from her knitting-needles to her sharp elbows and thin chin and nose. “Well, he kin give it up, then, if he wants to, for all me. I ain't goin' to give up my principles for him nor any of his folks, an' they'll find it out. You kin git somebody else jest as good as he is.”
“I don't want anybody else.”
“H-m! You needn't have 'em, then, ef you 'ain't got no more sperit. I shouldn't think you'd want your grandmother to give up doin' what's right, yourself, Hatty Gay.” ”

“ There was a slow shyness about her; she never talked much, even to her grandmother,
“You kin git you somethin' to eat, ef you want it,” said the old woman. “I don't want to stop, myself, till I git this heel done. Was Henry to meetin'?”
“Yes.”
“His father an' mother?”
“Yes.”
Henry was the young man who had been paying attention to Hatty. Her grandmother was proud and pleased; she liked him.
Hatty generally went to church Sunday evenings, and the young man escorted her home, and came in and made a call. To-night the girl did not go to church as usual. Esther was astonished. ”

“ The old woman waited a moment; then she proceeded: “I've been thinkin',” said she—“you 'ain't never had any real nice dress, you know—that it would be a real good plan for you to take some money, now you've got it, an' buy you a silk one. You 'ain't never had one, an' you're old enough to.”
Still Hatty sewed, and said nothing.
“You might want to go somewhar,” continued Esther, “an'—well, of course, if anything should happen, if Henry— It's jest as well not to hev to do everything all to once, an' it's consider'ble work to make a silk dress, Why don't you say somethin'?” ”

“ I've been over to Mis' Little's, an'—we've had a talk, I guess she thought she'd been kind of silly to make sech a fuss, I reasoned with her, an' I guess she saw I'd been more right about some things than she'd thought for, An' as far as goin' to meetin' an' knittin' Sundays is concerned—well, I don't s'pose I kin knit any more ef I want to. ”