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Motherwell would go on, with a grieved air, "just as the busy time came on didn't she up and take the fever you never can depend on them English girls and when the doctor was outside there in the buggy waitin' for her he took her to the hospital I declare if we didn't find her blubberin' over them poppies, and not a flower on them no mor'n nothing."
Pearl could just see poor Nellie Slater standing dry-eyed and pale at the window wondering if Tom could get away from his lynx-eyed parents who dogged his every footstep, and Pearl's tears flowed afresh. But Nellie Slater was not standing dry-eyed and pale at the window. "Did you ask Tom Motherwell?" Fred, her brother, asked, looking up from a list he held in his hand.
The Poetical Works of William Motherwell; with a Memoir of his Life. Fourth Edition, greatly Enlarged. Boston. Ticknor & Fields. 32mo. pp. 308. 75 cts. The Avenger, a Narrative; and other Papers. By Thomas De Quincey. Boston. Ticknor & Fields. 16mo. pp. 327. 75 cts. Life of William Pitt. By Lord Macaulay. Preceded by the Life of the Earl of Chatham. New York.
The girl then told her she had brought the seed with her and planted it there. She was the craziest thing, this Polly Bragg. She went every night to see them because they were like a "bit of home," she said. Mrs. Motherwell would tell you just what a ridiculous creature she was! "I never see the beat o' that girl," Mrs. Motherwell would say.
Motherwell, and say with piercing clearness, the way a woman did in the book: "I weep not for myself, but for you and for your children." But, of course, that would not do, so she said: "I ain't cryin' much." Pearl was grating horse-radish that afternoon, but the tears she shed were for the parted lovers.
Motherwell saw her boy in a new light as she listened, and Tom had a glorified vision of his mother as she clasped him in her arms crying: "It is our fault Tom, mine and your father's; we have tried to make you into a machine like we are ourselves, and forgot that you had a soul, but it's not too late yet, Tom.
She could hear her moving around Pearl must go to her bed, or she would not be able to get up in the morning. Pearl was just going out of the kitchen with her hat and coat on when Mrs. Motherwell came in. "Where are you going, Pearl," she asked. "To git someone to go for the doctor," Pearl answered stoutly. "Is he worse?" Mrs. Motherwell asked quickly. "He can't git worse," Pearl replied grimly.
"You boys needn't quarrel over Camilla for Jim Russell is coming, and when Camilla sees him, what chance do you suppose you'll have?" "And when Jim sees Camilla, what chance will you have, Nell?" George asked. "Not one in a hundred; but I am prepared for the worst," Nellie answered, good-naturedly. "That means she has asked Tom Motherwell," Peter explained. Then Mrs.
Motherwell hid her face in her apron, trembling with excitement. Sam's face was immovable, but a mysterious Something, not of earth, was struggling with him. Was it the faith of that decrepit old woman in that bare little room across the sea, mumbling to herself that God had not forgotten? God knows. His ear is not dulled; His arm is not shortened; His holy spirit moves mightily.
Sam Motherwell was not a careless man about money, but the possession of this particular twenty-five dollars gave him no pleasure. The young minister went down the street with a thoughtful face. "I wonder if I did right," he was thinking. "It is a hard thing to talk that way to a human being, and yet it seems to be the only thing to do.
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