Part 6 (2/2)
”I understand, Miss Barbara,” he answered, solemnly.
”You see, sir,” he said, apologetically, turning to Norman, ”I get along all right till she begins ter speak, and when I hears her soft, sweet voice it seems ter run all down my back in little ticklin' waves clean down ter my toes, an' I holler 'Glory' before I can stop it!”
Norman laughed.
”I understand, old man.”
”You feel that way yerself, don't ye, now, when she looks down into yer soul with them big, soft eyes o' hern, an' her voice comes a-stealin' inter yer heart like the music of the angels----”
Barbara's face lighted, and a slight blush suffused her cheeks as she caught the look of admiring a.s.sent in Norman's expression.
”That will do, John,” she said, firmly. ”Mr. Wolf was very angry with you yesterday.”
”I'll remember, Miss Barbara,” he repeated. ”And G.o.d bless your dear heart fer comin' by ter tell me.”
”I suppose he has no people living who are interested in him?” Norman asked, as they turned toward the Socialist hall.
”No. He came from a big mill town in the East. His children all died before they were grown, and he landed here with his wife ten years ago. When she died, he was sent to the poorhouse. He hasn't much mind, but there's enough left to burst into flame at the memory of his children being slowly ground to death by the wheels of those mills.
I've seen his dead soul start to life more than once as I've looked into his face from our platform. What an awful thing to see dead men walking about!”
”Yes. People who are dead and don't know it. I never thought of it before.” Norman exclaimed.
They stopped in front of a house with a scarlet light in the hall, which threw its rays through a red-gla.s.s transom over a door of coloured leaded gla.s.s. The shadows of evening had begun to fall, and for the first time the girl showed a sign of hesitation and embarra.s.sment.
”I hate to ask you to go in here with me, and I'd hate worse to have you see me go alone. Yet I have to do it. My work leads me.”
”I'm going with you, whether you ask it or not,” he firmly replied.
”Then words are useless,” she said, simply, as she rang the bell.
A Negro maid opened the door, and smiled a look of recognition. ”She ain't no better, miss. She's been crying for you all day.”
Barbara led the way up two flights of stairs to a small room in the rear, and entered without knocking. With a bound she was beside the bed on which lay a slender girl of nineteen. A ma.s.s of golden blond hair was piled in confusion on the pillow, and a pair of big, childish-looking blue eyes blinked at her through her tears.
”Oh! you've come at last! I'm so glad. It makes me strong to see you.
Your face s.h.i.+nes so, Barbara! They say I can't live, but it's not so.
I shall live! I'm feeling better every day. It's nonsense. The doctors haven't got any sense. I wish you'd get me one that knows something.
Won't you, dear?”
”My friend, Mr. Worth, who has called with me, has kindly agreed to send you another doctor, little sister--that's why I brought him to see you.”
Norman extended his hand, and grasped the thin, cold one the girl extended. He felt the chill of death in its icy touch as he stammered:
”I'll send him right away.”
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