an’ when I heard ’em sayin’, ‘There, she’s gone, she’s gone!’ and Mis’ Deckett a-weepin’, I put on my bunnit and stepped myself out into the road.  I felt to repent after I had gone but a rod, but I was so worked up, an’ I thought they’d call me back, an’ then I was put out because they didn’t, an’ so here I be.  I can’t help it now.”  Sarah Ellen was crying again; she and Mrs. Crane could not look at each other.

“Well, you set an’ rest,” said Mrs. Crane kindly, and with the merest shadow of disapproval.  “You set an’ rest, an’ by an’ by, if you’d feel better, you could go back an’ just make a little stop an’ inquire about the arrangements.  I wouldn’t harbor no feelin’s, if they be inconsiderate folks.  Sister Barsett has often deplored their actions in my hearing an’ wished she had sisters like other folks.  With all her faults she was a useful person an’ a good neighbor,” mourned Mercy Crane sincerely.  “She was one that always had somethin’ interestin’ to tell, an’ if it wa’n’t for her dyin’ spells an’ all that sort o’ nonsense, she’d make a figger in the world, she would so.  She walked with an air always, Mis’ Barsett did; you’d ask who she was if you hadn’t known, as she passed you by.  How quick we forget the outs about anybody that’s gone!  But I always feel grateful to anybody that’s friendly, situated as I be.  I shall miss her runnin’ over.  I can seem to see her now, coming over the rise in the road.  But don’t you get in a way of takin’ things too hard, Sarah Ellen!  You’ve worked yourself all to pieces since I saw you last; you’re gettin’ to be as lean as a meetin’-house fly.  Now, you’re comin’ in to have a cup o’ tea with me, an’ then you’ll feel better.  I’ve got some new molasses gingerbread that I baked this mornin’.”

“I do feel beat out, Mis’ Crane,” acknowledged the poor little soul, glad of a chance to speak, but touched by this unexpected mark of consideration.  “If I could ha’ done as I wanted to I should be feelin’ well enough, but to be set aside an’ ordered about, where I’d taken the lead in sickness so much, an’ knew how to deal with Sister Barsett so well!  She might be livin’ now, perhaps”—­

“Come; we’d better go in, ‘tis gettin’ damp,” and the mistress of the house rose so hurriedly as to seem bustling.  “Don’t dwell on Sister Barsett an’ her foolish folks no more; I wouldn’t, if I was you.”

They went into the front room, which was dim with the twilight of the half-closed blinds and two great syringa bushes that grew against them.  Sarah Ellen put down her bundle and bestowed herself in the large, cane-seated rocking-chair.  Mrs. Crane directed her to stay there awhile and rest, and then come out into the kitchen when she got ready.