too, bein' right off the kitchen. But it ain't furnished."
"No," said Isaphene, "it ain't."
"An' I know your paw wouldn't furnish it."
Isaphene laughed. "No, I guess not," she said.
"Well, there's no use a-thinkin' about it, Isaphene; we just can't take her. Better get them potatoes on; I see the men-folks comin' up to the barn."
The next morning after breakfast Isaphene said suddenly, as she stood washing dishes, "Maw, I guess you better take the organ money an' furnish up that room."
Mrs. Bridges turned so sharply she dropped the turkey-wing with which she was polishing off the stove.
"You don't never mean it," she gasped,
"Yes, I do. I know we'd both feel better to take her in than to take in an organ"—they both laughed rather foolishly at the poor joke. "You can furnish the room real comfter'ble with what it 'u'd take to buy an organ; an' we can get the horse an' buggy, too."
"Oh, Isaphene, I've never meant but what you should have an organ! No, I won't never spen' that money for nothin' but an organ—so you can just shet up about it."
"I want a horse an' buggy worse, maw. We can get a horse that I can ride too. An' we'll get a phaeton, so's we can take Mis' Lane to church an 'round." Then she added, with a regular masterpiece of diplomacy, "We'll show the neighbors that when we do take people in, we take 'em in all over."
"Oh, Isaphene," said her mother, weakly, "wouldn't it just astonish 'em!"
It was ten o'clock of the following morning when Isaphene ran in and announced that she heard wheels coming up the lane. Mrs. Bridges paled a little and breathed quickly as she got her bonnet and went out to the gate. A red spring wagon was coming slowly toward her, drawn by a single horse. The driver was half asleep on the front seat. Behind, in a low chair, sat old Mrs. Lane; she was stooping over, her elbows on her knees, her gray head bowed.
Mrs. Bridges held up her hand, and the driver pulled in the not reluctant horse.
"How d'you do, Mis' Lane? I want you should come in an' visit me a while."
The old creature lifted her trembling head and looked at Mrs. Bridges; then she saw the old house, half hidden by vines and flowers, and her dim eyes filled with bitter tears.
"We ain't got time to stop, ma'am," said the driver, politely. "I'm a-takin' her to the county," he added, in a lower tone, but not so low that the old woman did not hear.
"You'll have to make time," said Mrs. Bridges, bluntly. "You get down an' help her out. You don't have to wait. When I'm ready for her to go to the county, I'11 take her myself."
Not understanding in the least, but realizing, as he said afterwards, that she "meant business" and wasn't the kind to be fooled with, the man obeyed with alacrity.
"Now you lean all your heft on me," said Mrs. Bridges, kindly. She put her arm around the old woman and led her up the hollyhock path, and through the house into the pleasant kitchen.
"Isaphene, you pull that big chair over here where it's cool. Now, Mis' Lane, you set right down an' rest."
Mrs. Lane wiped the tears from her face with an old cotton handkerchief. She tried to speak, but the sobs had to be swallowed down too fast. At last she said, in a choked voice: "It's awful good in you—to let me see the old place—once more. The Lord bless you—for it! But I'm most sorry I stopped—seems now 's if I—just couldn't go on now."
"Well, you ain't goin' on," said Mrs. Bridges, while Isaphene went to the door and stood looking toward the hill with drowned eyes. "This is our little joke—Isaphene's an' mine. This'll be your home 's long 's its our'n. An' you're goin' to have this nice big room right off the kitchen, 's soon 's we can furnish it up. We'll have to put you in the spare room for a week or two, though. An' we're goin' to get a horse an' buggy—a low buggy, so's you can get in an' out easy like— an' take you to church an' all 'round."
That night, after Mrs. Bridges had put Mrs. Lane to bed and told her good-night, she went out on the front porch and sat down; but presently, remembering that she had not put a candle in the room, she went back, opening the door noiselessly, not to disturb her. Then she stood perfectly still. The old creature had got out of the bed and was kneeling beside it, her face buried in her hands.
"Oh, Lord God," she was saying aloud, "bless these kind people—bless 'em, oh, Lord God! Hear a poor old mis'rable
