And at the sound of it, Vesta Dale fell away again into helpless
weeping, like a frightened child; for it was the tune of "Rosin the
Beau"
"Who shall tell him?" she moaned, covering her face with her hands,
and rocking to and fro,--"oh, who shall tell him that the light of our
life and his is gone out?"
CHAPTER VIII.
WAITING.
How did the time pass with the sick woman, waiting in the little
chamber, listening day by day and hour by hour for the steps, the
voices, which did not come? Miss Rejoice was very peaceful, very
quiet,--too quiet, thought Mandy Loomis, the good neighbor who watched
by her, fulfilling her little needs, and longing with a thirsty soul
for a good dish of gossip. If Rejoice would only "open her mind!" it
would be better for her, and such a relief to poor Mandy, unused to
silent people who bore their troubles with a smile.
"Where do you s'pose she is, Rejoice?" Mrs. Loomis would cry, twenty
times a day. "Where do you s'pose she is? Ef we only knew, 't would be
easier to bear, seems 's though. Don't you think so, Rejoice?"
But Rejoice only shook her head, and said, "She is cared for, Mandy,
we must believe. All we have to do is to be quiet, and wait for the
Lord's time.
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