The hearty, comfortable quiet of the Starkes'
little farm-house tired her. It was such a sluggish life of nothings,
she thought,--even when Jane had brought her chair close to the window
where the sunshine came in broadest and clearest through the
buttonwood-leaves. Jane saw the look, and it troubled her. She was not
much of a talker, only when with her husband, so there was no use of
trying that. She put a little table beside the window and a white cloth
on it, and then brought a saucer of crimson strawberries and yellow
cream; but the lady was no eater, she was sorry to see. She stood a
moment timidly, but Miss Defourchet did not put her at her ease. It was
the hungry poor she cared for, with stifled brains and souring feeling.
This woman was at ease, stupidly at peace with God and herself.
"Perhaps thee'd be amused to look over Joseph's case of books?" handing
her the key, and then sitting down with her knitting, contented in
having finished her duty. "After a while thee'll have a pleasant
time,"--smiling consciously. "Richard'll be awake. Richard's our boy,
thee knows? I wish he was awake, but it is his mornin' nap, an' I never
disturb him in his mornin' nap.
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