“Oh, we'll all be done wid trouble, by en bye, little chillun, We'll all be done wid trouble, by en bye. Oh, we'll set en chatter wid de angels, by en bye, little chillun, We'll set en chatter wid de angels, by en bye.”
The door opened and Virginia came softly into the room, and stopped short at the sight of Betty.
“Why, your things were perfectly straight, Betty,” she exclaimed in surprise. “I declare, you'll be a real old maid.”
“Perhaps I shall,” replied Betty, indifferently; “but if I am, I'm going to be a tidy one.”
“I never heard of one who wasn't,” remarked Virginia, and added, “you've put all your ribbons into the wrong drawer.”
“I like a change,” said Betty, folding up a muslin skirt.
“Oh, we'll slip en slide on de golden streets, by en bye, little chillun, We'll slip en slide on de golden streets, by en bye,”
“Aunt Lydia found six red pinks in bloom in her window garden,” observed Virginia, cheerfully. “Why, where are you going, Betty?”
“Just for a walk,” answered Betty, as she put on her bonnet and cloak. “I'm not afraid of the cold, you know, and I'm so tired sitting still,” and she added, as she fastened her fur tippet, “I shan't be long, dear.”
She opened the door, and Mammy Riah's voice followed her across the hall and down the broad staircase:--
“Oh, we'll ride on de milk w'ite ponies, by en bye, little chillun, We'll ride on de milk w'ite ponies, by en bye.”
At the foot of the stair she called the dogs, and they came bounding through the hall and leaped upon her as she crossed the portico. Then, as she went down the drive and up the desolate turnpike, they ran ahead of her with short, joyous barks.
The snow had melted and frozen again, and the long road was like a gray river winding between leafless trees. The gaunt crows were still flying back and forth over the meadows, but she did not have corn for them to-day. Had she been happy, she would not have forgotten them; but the pain in her breast made her selfish even about the crows.
With the dogs leaping round her, she pressed bravely against the wind, flying breathlessly from the struggle at her heart. There was nothing to cry over, she told herself again, nothing even to regret. It was her own fault, and because it was her own fault she could bear it quietly as she should have borne the joy.