She had restored herself to the
footing of an undervalued intercourse. At the sight of her Miss
Anna sprang up, kissed her all over the face, was atoningly cordial
with her arms, tried in every way to say: "See, Harriet, I bare my
heart! Behold the dagger of remorse!"
Harriet saw; and she walked up and took the dagger by the handle
and twisted it to the right and to the left and drove it in deeper
and was glad.
"How do you like this dress, Anna?" she inquired with the sweetest
solicitude. "Ah, there is no one like a friend to bring you to
your senses! You were right. I am too old to change, too old to
dress, too old even to read: thank you, Anna, as always."
Many a wound of friendship heals, but the wounder and the wounded
are never the same to each other afterward. So that the two
comrades were ill at ease and welcomed a diversion in the form of a
visitor. It happened to be the day of the week when Miss Anna
received her supply of dairy products from the farm of Ambrose
Webb. He came round to the side entrance now with two shining tin
buckets and two lustreless eyes.
The old maids stood on the edge of the porch with their arms
wrapped around each other, and talked to him with nervous gayety.
He looked up with a face of dumb yearning at one and then at the
other, almost impartially.
"Aren't you well, Mr. Webb?" inquired Miss Anna, bending over
toward him with a healing smile.
"Certainly I am well," he replied resentfully.
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