There was something so intensely pathetic in this
effort of the fast-fading little old woman to begin to bud from the
old life flower-plants to blossom in a new one, into which she could
hardly expect to make more than the shortest journey, that even the
General's young and inexperienced heart was moved to a quick
compassion.
"I'm a-going to carry the flowers over and plant 'em careful for you,
Aunt Amandy," he said as he sidled up close to her and put his arm
around her with a protective gesture. "We'll water 'em twice a day and
just _make_ 'em grow, won't we, Tobe?"
"Bucketfuls 'til we drap," answered Tobe with a sympathy equal to and
a courage as great as that of his superior officer.
"Is the blue myrtle sprig often the graves holding up its leaves,
Amandy?" asked Miss Lavinia in a softened tone of voice.
"Yes, it's doing fine," answered Miss Amandy, bending over to the last
of the row of cans.
"Then come on and get out the burying things and let's get that job
over," Miss Lavinia continued to insist. "Don't get our things mixed!
Remember that my grave shift has got nothing but a seemly stitched
band on it while you would have linen lace on yours. And don't let
anything get wrinkled. I don't want to rise on Judgment Day looking
like I needed the pressing of a hot iron. Now pull out the trunk,
boys, lift out the tray so as I can--"
But at this juncture Rose Mary appeared at the door with a tray on
which stood a bowl of soup, and Miss Lavinia lay back on her pillows
weakly, with the fire all gone out of her eyes and exhaustion written
on every line of her determined old face.
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