"Give Sary time to lay off her bonnet, child!" reproved Mrs. Brewster,
pulling out a rocker for the widow.
"Laws me! What'cher doin'--a-cleanin' house agin!" cried Sary, leaning
against the door-frame panting for breath.
"Winded, Sary? Ah told you-all Ah'd carry that heavy box from the
wagon. But no!" exclaimed Mr. Brewster.
Polly was over by the door by this time, and she stooped to carry the
box indoors.
"Goodness! What's in the box to make it so heavy?"
"Chil', that box hol's all my treasures on arth! Some few things Bill
lef me, our fam'iy album, an' my gran'mother's pieces of reel silver--
four plated! And mos' of all, the Brittania cake basket Bill gave me on
our annerversary!" explained Sary, pathetically, as she dabbed a black
cotton glove at her dewy eyes.
"Sam, take the team to the barn and leave Sary with us. We'll soon have
her feeling at home," said Mrs. Brewster, seeing a frown coming over
her lord and master's face, as he wondered if his home-life was to be
shadowed by a sorrowing widow!
The moment Mr. Brewster left for the barn, his wife returned to the
"help," who had plumped herself down into the wooden Boston rocker and
was fanning herself vigorously with a newspaper.
"Let me remove your bonnet, Sary," offered Mrs. Brewster kindly, taking
the twisted black strings to undo the knot that was tightly tied under
a heavy double chin.
"Ah declar t' goodness, Miss Brewster, ef you-all hain't too good!
Ah'll jest set t' git my second wind, an' then Ah'll tek right hol' of
things!" gasped Sary.
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