“There never was a better man,” responded Mrs. Crowe, in a really cheerful tone. She had recovered from her feeling of nervous dread, the kitchen was so comfortable with lamplight and firelight; and just then the old clock began to tell the hour of twelve with leisurely whirring strokes.
Sister Binson laid aside her work, and rose quickly and went to the cupboard. “We`d better take a little to eat,” she explained. “The night will go fast after this. I want to know if you went and made some o` your nice cupcake, while you was home to-day?” she asked, in a pleased tone; and Mrs. Crowe acknowledged such a gratifying piece of thoughtfulness for this humble friend who denied herself all luxuries.
Sister Binson
Sarah Ann brewed a generous cup of tea, and the watchers drew their chairs up to the table presently, and quelled their hunger with good country appetites. Sister Binson put a spoon into a small, old-fashioned glass of preserved quince, and passed it to her friend. She was most familiar with the house, and played the part of hostess. “Spread some o` this on your bread and butter,“ she said to Mrs. Crowe. “Tempy wanted me to use some three or four times, but I never felt to. I know she`d like to have us comfortable now, and would urge us to make a good supper, poor dear.”
“What excellent preserves she did make!” mourned Mrs. Crowe. “None of us has got her light hand at doin` things tasty. She made the most o` everything, too. Now, she only had that one old quince-tree down in the far corner of the piece, but she`d go out in the spring and tend to it, and look at it so pleasant, and kind of expect the old thorny thing into bloomin`.”
“She was just the same with folks,” said Sarah Ann. “And she`d never git more`n a little apernful o` quinces, but she`d have every mite o` goodness out o` those, and set the glasses up onto her best-room closet shelf, so pleased. `Twa`n`t but a week ago to-morrow mornin` I fetched her a little taste o` jelly in a teaspoon; and she says `Thank ye,` and took it, an` the minute she tasted it she looked up at me as worried as could be. `Oh, I don`t want to eat that,` says she. `I always keep that in case o` sickness.` `You`re goin` to have the good o` one tumbler yourself,` says I. `I`d just like to know who` sick now, if you ain`t!` An` she couldn`t help laughin`, I spoke up so smart. Oh, dear me, how I shall miss talkin` over things with her! She always sensed things, and got just the p`int you meant.”
Read More about Memoirs or Chronicle of the Fourth Crusade part 57
