Miss Diana received the news in absolute silence. The brave daughter of a brave father, she would make no moan, but the sweetness seemed to have suddenly gone from the flowers and the light out of the sky.
Unavella looked at her in amazement. She was used to the stormy grief which finds vent in tears and groans. “It beats me how different folks takes things!” she ejaculated mentally. “Well, she’ll need suthin’ to keep her strength up all the more now she ain’t got nuthin’ to support her;” and, gathering peas and pods into her apron with a mighty sweep of her arm, she marched into her kitchen in a fever of sympathetic indignation and evolved a dinner which was a masterpiece of culinary skill.
Miss Diana forced herself to eat something. She knew if she did not, Unavella would be worried, and she possessed that peculiar regard for the feelings of others which would not allow her to consider her own.
“You are a wonderful cook, Unavella,” she said, with a pathetic cheerfulness which did not deceive her faithful handmaiden, who, as she confided afterwards to a friend, wuz weepin’ bitter gall tears in her mind, though she kep’ a calm front outside, for she wuzn’t goin’ ter be outdid in pluck by that little bit of sweetness. “I shall be able to give you a beautiful character.”
She lifted her hand with a deprecating gesture as Unavella was about to burst forth with a stormy denial.
“Not yet, please, Unavella; not just yet. Let me have time to think a little before you say anything. I feel rather shaken. The news was so very unexpected, you see,” she said with a shadowy smile, which Unavella averred “cut her heart clean in two.” “But everything is just right, Unavella, that happens to the Lord’s children, you know. Things look a little misty now, but I shall see the sunlight again by and bye. In the meantime there is this delicious dinner. Someone ought to be reaping the benefit of it. Suppose you take it to poor Mrs. Dixon? She enjoys anything tasty so much and she cannot afford to buy dainties for herself.” Miss Diana would never learn the economy which is content to be comfortable while a neighbor is in need. “And, Unavella, if you please, you might say I am not receiving callers this afternoon. I am afraid it is not very hospitable, but I feel as if I must be alone. This has been rather a sudden shock to me.”
“You, you – angul!” exclaimed Unavella, as soon as she had regained the privacy of her kitchen, while a briny crystal of genuine affection rolled down her cheek and splashed unceremoniously into the gravy.
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