"Don't speak too loud, it jars a person's head," directed Mrs. Hight
plainly. "Clear an' distinct is what reaches me best. Any news to the
Landin'?"
I was happily furnished with the particulars of a sudden death, and an
engagement of marriage between a Caplin, a seafaring widower home from
his voyage, and one of the younger Harrises; and now Mrs. Hight really
smiled and settled herself in her chair. We exhausted one subject
completely before we turned to the other. One of the returning turkeys
took an unwarrantable liberty, and, mounting the doorstep, came in and
walked about the kitchen without being observed by its strict owner;
and the tin dipper slipped off its nail behind us and made an
astonishing noise, and jar enough to reach Mrs. Hight's inner ear and
make her turn her head to look at it; but we talked straight on. We
came at last to understand each other upon such terms of friendship
that she unbent her majestic port and complained to me as any poor old
woman might of the hardships of her illness. She had already fixed
various dates upon the sad certainty of the year when she had the
shock, which had left her perfectly helpless except for a clumsy left
hand which fanned and gestured, and settled and resettled the folds of
her dress, but could do no comfortable time-shortening work.
"Yes 'm, you can feel sure I use it what I can," she said severely.
"'Twas a long spell before I could let Esther go forth in the mornin'
till she 'd got me up an' dressed me, but now she leaves things ready
overnight and I get 'em as I want 'em with my light pair o' tongs, and
I feel very able about helpin' myself to what I once did. Then when
Esther returns, all she has to do is to push me out here into the
kitchen. Some parts o' the year Esther stays out all night, them
moonlight nights when the dogs are apt to be after the sheep, but she
don't use herself as hard as she once had to. She 's well able to hire
somebody, Esther is, but there, you can't find no hired man that wants
to git up before five o'clock nowadays; 't ain't as 't was in my time.
They 're liable to fall asleep, too, and them moonlight nights she's so
anxious she can't sleep, and out she goes. There's a kind of a fold,
she calls it, up there in a sheltered spot, and she sleeps up in a
little shed she 's got,--built it herself for lambin' time and when the
poor foolish creatur's gets hurt or anything. I 've never seen it, but
she says it's in a lovely spot and always pleasant in any weather. You
see off, other side of the ridge, to the south'ard, where there's
houses. I used to think some time I 'd get up to see it again, and all
them spots she lives in, but I sha'n't now. I 'm beginnin' to go back;
an' 't ain't surprisin'. I 've kind of got used to disappointments,"
and the poor soul drew a deep sigh.