And though, if read she
must, the very soul of Rose Mary panted for the comfort of some of the
lines of the Sweet Singer, Aunt Viney held her strictly to the words
of her favorite thunderer, Jeremiah, and little Aunt Amandy bunched up
under the cover across the bed fairly shook with terror as she buried
her head in her pillow to keep out the rolling words of invective that
began with an awful "_Harken_" and ended with "_Woe is me now, for my
soul is wearied_!"
"Now," concluded Miss Lavinia, "you can put out the light. Rose Mary,
and if me and Amandy was to open our eyes on the other side of the
river it would be but a good thing for us. Lay the Bible in that
newspaper on top of that pile of _Christian Advocates_, with a string
to tie 'em all up after morning lesson, to be carried away. The Lord
bless and keep you, child, and don't forget to latch the front door on
us all for the last time!"
Softly Rose Mary drew the door partly closed and left them in the
quiet of the fast-deepening purple dusk. She peeped into Uncle
Tucker's room and assured herself by his sonorous breathing that rest
at last was comforting him, and for a moment in her own room she bent
over the little cot where the General and his two spotted servitors
lay curled up in a tangle and fast in the depths of sleep. Then she
opened wide the old hall door that had for more than a century swung
over the sill marked off by the length of the intrepid English
foremother who had tramped the wilderness trail to possess what she,
herself, was giving up.
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