When she heard
Harriet's step she started up with breath quickly indrawn. There were
tears in her eyes. Something in her hand she concealed in the folds of
her skirt then impulsively--unlike her, too--she threw an arm around
Harriet and buried her face on Harriet's shoulder. In response to
Harriet's question she said:
"Oh, an old, old trouble. No _new_ trouble."
That was all there was to it. All the new troubles were the troubles of
other people. You may say this isn't much of a clue; well it isn't, and
yet I like to have it in mind. It gives me somehow the _other_ woman who
is not expected or predictable or commonplace. I seem to understand our
Old Maid the better; and when I think of her bustling, inquisitive,
helpful, gentle ways and the shine of her white soul, I'm sure I don't
know what we should do without her in this community.
VIII
A ROADSIDE PROPHET
From my upper field, when I look across the countryside, I can see in
the distance a short stretch of the gray town road. It winds out of a
little wood, crosses a knoll, and loses itself again beyond the trees of
an old orchard. I love that spot in my upper field, and the view of the
road beyond. When I am at work there I have only to look up to see the
world go by--part of it going down to the town, and part of it coming up
again.
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