Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

“ Hannah sat looking at her moodily. If it were not for this old woman she would lock her house and leave the village this very night. It must be that she would find toleration somewhere in the great world. Some of her kind would be willing to let her live. But here was Martha, whom she would not leave; Martha and her calla-lily, which to a fanciful mind might well seem a very part of her ”

“ I s'pose she thought she could raise a little money that way. I guess she's havin' a pretty hard time. She can't get no work anywheres. She's been sewin' boots for Allen over in Wayne, but I heard the other day he was goin' to shut down on her. She's gettin' some of her punishment in this world. Folks said Arnold's son George had a notion of goin' with her once, but I guess it put a stop to that pretty quick. He's down East somewhere.”
Hannah, plodding along out in the windy, moonlit night, knew as well what they were saying as if she had been at their elbows. ”

“ There was a deathly calm. George Arnold arose. He was a tall, fair man, like his father. His yellow, curled head towered up gravely; the light from the pulpit window settled on it. He was very pale. “I wish to make a statement in the presence of this congregation,” he said, in a loud, clear voice. “This lady beside me, who is now my wife, has been accused of theft from my father. The accusation was a false one. I stole the money myself. She has borne what she has had to bear from you all to shield me.”
Before he had quite finished Hannah rose ”

“ There was nothing desperate in her mind, only that fixed intention—the food she would have, she did not know how, but she would have it.
She was so weak from fasting that she could scarcely step herself, but she did not think of that. “It's awful for an old woman to go hungry,” she muttered, going down the street. ”

“ Flowers 'll grow for some folks, and that's all there is about it. I allers had jist sech luck.” Martha stood staring at the lilies. A self-gratulation that had something noble about it was in her smiling old face.
“I tell Hannah,” she went on, “if I be miser'ble in health, an' poor, flowers 'll blow for me, and that's more than they'll do for some folks, no matter how hard they try. ”

“ They sat down side by side, and waited while the congregation went out. A carriage stood before the church. The bridal couple were to leave town that day. A few stood staring at a distance as George Arnold assisted his bride into the carriage after the crowd had dispersed.
They drove straight to Hannah's house. There was an old figure waiting at the gate. Beside her stood a great pot of calla-lilies.
“You jist lift in them lilies first, afore I git in,” said she, “an' be real keerful you don't break 'em. The stalks is tender.” ”

“ I s'pose he thought they couldn't really prove anything, not findin' the money. And then he's a deacon of the church; he'd hate to do such a thing, anyway. But everybody in town thinks she took it, fast enough. Nobody has anything to do with her. She used to go out sewin' for folks, but they say she stole lots of pieces. I heard she took enough black silk here and there to make a dress. Nobody has her now, that I know of. You don't want anybody in your house that you can't trust. ”

“ She's young an' good-lookin', but she's had her calla-lily five year, an' she 'ain't had but one bud, and that blasted.”
“Well, flowers is a good deal of company.”
“I guess they air. They're most as good as folks. Mis' Newhall, why don't Jennie come in an' see Hannah sometimes?”
All the lines in Mrs. Newhall's pale face lengthened. She looked harder at the callas. “Well, I dunno, Marthy; Jenny don't go much of anywhere. Those lilies are beautiful. You'd ought to have 'em carried into the meetin'-house next Sunday, an' set in front of the pulpit.”
Martha turned white. ”