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“She didn’t begin to age until two or three years ago, did she?” asked Mrs. Crowe.”I never saw anybody keep her looks as Tempy did. She looked young long after I begun to feel like an old woman. The doctor used to say ‘t was her young heart, and I don’t know but what he was right. How she did do for other folks! There was one spell she wasn’t at home a day to a fortnight. She got most of her livin’ so, and that made her own potatoes and things last her through. None o’ the young folks could get married without her, and all the old ones was disappointed if she wa’n’t round when they was down with sickness and had to go. An’ cleanin’, or tailorin’ for boys, or rug-hookin’, — there was nothin’ but what she could do as handy as most.’I do love to work,’ — ain’t you heard her say that twenty times a week?”

Sarah Ann Binson nodded, and began to clear away the empty plates.”We may want a taste o’ somethin’ more towards mornin’,” she said.”There’s plenty in the closet here; and in case some comes from a distance to the funeral, we’ll have a little table spread after we get back to the house.”

“Yes, I was busy all the mornin’. I’ve cooked up a sight o’ things to bring over,” said Mrs. Crowe.”I felt ‘t was the last I could do for her.”

They drew their chairs near the stove again, and took up their work. Sister Binson’s rocking-chair creaked as she rocked; the brook sounded louder than ever. It was more lonely when nobody spoke, and presently Mrs. Crowe returned to her thoughts of growing old.

“Yes, Tempy aged all of a sudden. I remember I asked her if she felt as well as common, one day, and she laughed at me good. There, when Dan’el begun to look old, I couldn’t help feeling as if somethin’ ailed him, and like as not ‘t was somethin’ he was goin’ to git right over, and I dosed him for it stiddy, half of one summer.”

“How many things we shall be wanting to ask Tempy!” exclaimed Sarah Ann Binson, after a long pause.”I can’t make up my mind to doin’ without her. I wish folks could come back just once, and tell us how ‘t is where they’ve gone. Seems then we could do without ’em better.”

The brook hurried on, the wind blew about the house now and then; the house itself was a silent place, and the supper, the warm fire, and an absence of any new topics for conversation made the watchers drowsy. Sister Binson closed her eyes first, to rest them for a minute; and Mrs. Crowe glanced at her compassionately, with a new sympathy for the hard-worked little woman. She made up her mind to let Sarah Ann have a good rest, while she kept watch alone; but in a few minutes her own knitting was dropped, and she, too, fell asleep. Overhead, the pale shape of Tempy Dent, the outworn body of that generous, loving-hearted, simple soul, slept on also in its white raiment. Perhaps Tempy herself stood near, and saw her own life and its surroundings with new understanding. Perhaps she herself was the only watcher.

Later, by some hours, Sarah Ann Binson woke with a start. There was a pale light of dawn outside the small windows. Inside the kitchen, the lamp burned dim. Mrs. Crowe awoke, too.

“I think Tempy ‘d be the first to say ‘t was just as well we both had some rest,” she said, not without a guilty feeling.