Hurrying to semi-toilet; again assuring herself that the key was
turned; peering a last time for lurking ravishers beneath the bed,
Mrs. Major then fumbled with keys before her box--threw up the lid.
Down through a pile of garments plunged her arm. Her searching fingers
closed about her quest and a very beautiful smile softened her face--a
smile of quiet confidence and of trust.
In greater degree than men, women have this power of taking strength
from the mere contact of an inanimate object. A girl will smile all
through her sleep because, hand beneath pillow, her fingers are about
a photograph or letter; no need, as with Mrs. Major there was no need,
even to see the thing that thus inspires. The pretty hand will delve
to recesses of a drawer, and the thrill that brings the smile will run
up from, it may be, a Bible, a diary, or a packet of letters touched.
Dependent since Eden, woman is more emotionally responsive to aught
that gives aid than is man; for man is accustomed to battle for his
prizes, not to receive them.
Mrs. Major drew up, that smile still upon her face, and the moon
through uncurtained window gave light upon the little joy she fetched
from the depths of her trunk.
"Old Tom Gin."
The neck of Old Tom's bottle clinked against a glass; Old Tom gurgled
generously; passed away through the steady smile he had inspired.
Pages:
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226