Naomi Holland was not an exacting patient, but she took her satisfaction out in the biting, malicious speeches she never failed to make. Even on her death-bed her hostility to her sister-in-law had to find vent.
Outside, at the steps, Sarah Spencer was waiting, with the milk pails over her arm. Sarah Spencer had no fixed abiding place, but was always to be found where there was illness. Her experience, and an utter lack of nerves, made her a good nurse. She was a tall, homely woman with iron gray hair and a lined face. Beside her, the trim little Caroline Anne, with her light step and round, apple-red face, looked almost girlish.
The two women walked to the e barnyard, discussing Naomi in undertones as they went. The house they had left behind grew very still.
In Naomi Holland’s room the shadows were gathering. Eunice timidly bent over her mother.
“Ma, do you want the light lit?”
“No, I’m watching that star just below the big cherry bough. I'll see it set behind the hill. I’ve seen it there, off and on, for twelve years, and now I’m taking a good-by look at it. I want you to keep still, too. I’ve got a few things to think over, and I don’t want to be disturbed.”
The girl lifted herself about noiselessly and locked her hands over the bed-post. Then she laid her
