There were tears in Jenny's eyes as she looked up. "Oh, Grandma Sue," she ran across the room and clung to the dear old woman, "aren't you glad, glad, glad we brought so much happiness into three lives?" Later, when they were at supper, Jenny told about her visit to Poindexter Arms.
There was a sad foreboding in the hearts of the old couple that evening. Although they said little, each was wondering what the outcome of their "gal's" daily readings would be. "Whatever 'tis, 'twill like to be for the best, I reckon," was Susan Warner's philosophic conclusion, and the old man's customary reply, "I cal'late yer right, Ma! Yo' be mos' allays."
Susan Warner reached Poindexter Arms at the hour appointed and found her employer in the lily-pond garden. The old woman curtsied. Her heart was filled with pity. How changed was her formerly haughty mistress. There were more lines in the pale, patrician face than there were in the ruddy countenance of the humbler woman who was years the older. Hesitatingly she spoke: "I reckon you've been mighty sick, Mis' Poindexter-Jones. It's a pity, too, you havin' so much to make life free of care an' happy." But the sad expression in the tired eyes, that were watching her so kindly, seemed to belie the words of the old woman who had been nurse for Baby Harold and housekeeper at Poindexter Arms for many years.
"Be seated, Susan. Miss Dane, my nurse, has gone to town to make a few purchases for me. Some of them books--" the invalid paused and turned questioningly toward the older woman. "Did your Jenny tell you that I wish to engage her services for an hour or two each morning--reading to me?"
Susan Warner nodded, saying brightly, "She was that pleased, Jenny was! She didn't tell me just what she was meaning, but she said, happy-like, 'It will give me a chance to pay a debt.'"
"A debt." The invalid was perplexed. "Why, Jenny Warner is in no way indebted to me." Then a cold, almost hard expression crept into her eyes, as she added, "If Gwynette had said that, I might have understood. But she never does. She takes all that I give her, and is rebellious because it is not more." She had been thinking aloud. Before her amazed listener uttered a comment, if, indeed, she would have done so, which is doubtful, the younger woman said bitterly: "Susan Warner, I have failed, failed miserably as a mother. You have succeeded. That is why I especially wished to talk with you this morning. I want your advice." Then Mrs. Poindexter-Jones did a very unusual thing for her. She acknowledged her disappointment in her adopted daughter to someone apart from herself.