DON'T see but what she'll hev to."
Asa Gardner rubbed his week's stub of beard and looked out of the window. He was the richest man in Tolland Centre. He was also a deacon in the Congregational church and visiting school committee and first selectman. It was as first selectman that he was called upon to dispose of Aunt Nancy Gibson. She was eighty-nine years old and a town pauper. "I don't see but what she'll hev to," repeated Asa, rubbing his chin uneasily.
His companion drummed with two fingers on the table. "She's too old to do any more work, ain't she?" he asked. He was a young man, perhaps thirty. He kept the village store, and was second selectman. He was in a hurry to get back to the store.
Asa looked at him mildly. "Yes, she's too old."
"Then she'd better go, wouldn't she? Sooner it's done the better. I'm going down that way in an hour or two. You might go along too and get it done with."
Asa reached out a detaining hand. He drew it back after a minute. "Yes, she'll hev to go," he said, with a gruff sigh.
The young man nodded. "I thought so. I'll be 'round. Good mornin'.—Good mornin', Mis' Gardner." He was passing through the wood-shed on his way to the yard.
The woman who stood at work at a table by the wall did not look up or speak. She wore a large calico sunbonnet, and she may not have heard him.
When the second selectman had disappeared down the long lane and through the gate, she stepped to the sitting-room door. "You there, Asa?"
A subdued response came from the room beyond. She went leisurely across.
"What you doin'?"
"Lookin' for my other coat."
"What you want it for?"
There was no response.
He came out thrusting his arms into the sleeves. His eyes carefully avoided the gray one under the sunbonnet, and they regarded him mildly. "What 'd Hiram Benson want?"
"Jest some town business," mumbled the deacon.
She nodded. "I thought so. Aunt Nancy Gibson, I s'pose."
"Yes," assented the deacon, helplessly.
She nodded again. "What's his idea?"
The deacon shuffled his feet. He was looking for the comb in its pocket against the wall. "She's too old to do any more work," he said, resentfully.
"She's eighty-nine."
The deacon looked at her hopefully. "That's just it! Suthin's got to be done." His voice had a note of relief.
She continued to look at him mildly. "She's earned a home—and a good one," she said, non-committally.
The deacon drew the comb viciously through his shaggy locks. "Well, she hain't got it."
"No—but she will have." The tone was quiet and matter-of-fact.
The deacon eyed her suspiciously. "I can't find it for her," he said, throwing the comb back into the rack.
"Then the town 'll hev to," she responded. She was rocking gently in the big chair by the window, and her sunbonnet had fallen on the back of her neck.
Asa grunted. "Why didn't she ever save up anything?" he demanded.
She looked thoughtfully out of the window. "I don't see's she ever had much chance," she said, slowly, as if watching pictures on the smooth lawn. "She's allays been takin' care of somebody that was sick. There wa'n't no chance to get ahead."
"She's had her board and clothes for it," grumbled the deacon.
"Much as ever.—She's been a good nurse." She was looking at him inquiringly.
The deacon nodded. "First rate," he said, emphatically.
"An' a good nurse gets 's much as twenty dollar a week in the city, they say."
The deacon was looking at her, with his mouth a little open.
"She took care of you four weeks once."
The mild voice carried no hint. But the deacon's mouth closed swiftly. "There ain't no place for her," he said, stubbornly.
"She might board out the eighty dollars with us 'fore she goes on the town." She was looking at him, and the gray eyes were a little misty.
The deacon's face weakened. "Where'd she go after that?" he asked.
"There's the Downses. She took care of them, off and on, more'n a year, all told, I should think. And they're well off. They could have paid her as well as not."
"She wouldn't take no pay—not for going in neighborly like in sickness."
"She stayed weeks at a time." Mrs. Gardner straightened herself in her chair and looked at him keenly. "How'd you like it, Asa, just because you're the best farmer anywhere round, to be called on to nurse up all the poor, good-for-nothin' farms in the neighborhood?"