THE WINGS ARE GROWING.
Connie went back to Giles, sat down by him, and he resumed his reading.
He was going through the _Pilgrim's Progress_ to her, reading short
sentences at a time, for his voice was too low and weak to enable him to
exert himself for long at a time.
"Connie, wot were that as I read last?"
Connie colored.
"You weren't listening," said Giles reproachfully. "It wor a most
beautiful bit. But you didn't hear me, Connie."
"I wor thinking o' something else jest then," owned Connie. "I'll listen
now wid hall my might, dear Giles."
"Ah! but I'm tired now," said Giles; "and besides, I want to talk 'bout
something else, Connie."
"Well."
"Sue have been a whole month in the country to-day--rayther more than a
month. I don't understand it at all. I never thought as she could stay
so long away from me. I suppose 'tis hall right, and cottages such as we
want do take a powerful long time to find. It has been a long
time--wery, wery long--but have I been patient 'bout Sue all this long
time, Connie?"
"Yes, indeed, dear Giles."
"Oh! I'm glad, fur I've tried to be. Then, Connie, wot I'm thinking is
that ef Sue don't soon come back--ef she don't soon find that 'ere
cottage--why, I won't want it, Connie. Sue 'ull come back and find
me--gone."
"Gone!" echoed Connie. "Do you mean dead? Oh Giles! you're not ill
enough to die."
"Yes, Connie, I think I am. I'm so real desperate weak sometimes that I
don't like even to move a finger. I used to be hungry, too, but now I
never cares to eat. Besides, Connie dear----"
"Yes, Giles," answered Connie.
"Those wings that I told you of--why, I often seem to feel them flutter
inside of me. I told you before, Connie, that when they was full grown,
why, I'd fly away. I think they are growing wery fast. I'll want no
cottage in the country now. I'm going away to a much better place, ain't
I, Connie?"
"Oh! but, Giles, I don't want to think that--I don't want to," answered
Connie, the tears raining down her cheeks.
"'Tis real good fur me, though, Connie. I used to pine sore fur the
country; but it have come hover me lately that in winter it 'ud be
dull--scarcely any flowers, and no birds singing, nor nothink. Now, in
heaven there's no winter. 'A land o' pure delight,' the hymn calls it,
'and never-withering flowers.' So you see, Connie, heaven must be a
sight better than the country, and of course I'd rayther go there; only
I'm thinking as 'tis sech a pity 'bout Sue."
"Yes, I wish as Sue was home," said Connie.
"Connie dear, couldn't we send her a message to come straight home to me
now? I'm so feared as she'll fret real hard ef she comes wid news of
that cottage and finds me gone."
"I'll look fur her; I will find her," said Connie with sudden energy.
Then she rose and drew down the blinds.
"I'll find Sue ef I can, Giles; and now you will go to sleep."
"Will you sing to me? When you sing, and I drop off to sleep listening,
I allers dream arterwards of heaven."
"What shall I sing?"
"'There is a land of pure delight.'"