Myra smoothed her hair and put on a fresh afternoon percale. To see Myra with her thin brown face, her slicked-back black hair which showed white threads like ravellings, in her afternoon house-dress of gray percale, one would never have taken her for a bride. Yet Myra had a very bridal feeling, sitting in her own home, with her own sewing, instead of running the machine in the shop, as she had done before her marriage. That it was, in reality, her husband's mother's home, and her husband's mother's sewing, scarcely altered the case. It was home, not shop. She had been married in August, when work fell slack. Now it was October. She had not broken anything until to-day.
Myra sewed and rocked and looked up at the framed portraits of Marvin and Nellie and Frank as children--the girl in queer plaid, and a locket; the boys in gilt-braided suits. Old and crude as the drawing was, it had a look of them--that steady, serious look of Marvin which he had never lost, and Nellie's--bold and managerial. Frank had died. Poor mother. She had known trouble.
At five, old Mrs. Bray came stiffly out. She had a curious, secretive air, not in the least mournful nor accusative, as Myra had feared. Myra held up the dress--a soft, gray challis with lavender pipings. Old Mrs. Bray's eyes widened like a pleased child's.
"To the last hook." She began to assist her mother into the new dress.
Mrs. Bray was a pretty old woman. There was about her an effect of fragile bloom like that of her old cup. In her gray-and-lavender she was like a quaint pastel.
"There!" cried Myra, standing off to view the effect.
"I ain't agoin' to take it off!" declared old Mrs. Bray suddenly; and waited for the remonstrance.
Nellie had always said: "Why, mother! Of course you'll take it off right away! Wear your good clothes out at home!"
To her surprise, Myra assented. "Keep it on, and let Marvin see how fine you look."
"Now you just set and let me get supper alone to-night."
"I'll set the table," decided old Mrs. Bray. "I guess just laying plates won't hurt it none."
Myra set about her biscuits. Marvin had to have his hot bread. Suddenly she heard a little splintering crash, followed by a whimpering wail--"Myry! Oh, Myry! I've broke the sasser!" The last remnants of Nellie's saucer, with their pink, fluted edges like ravished petals, lay spread out at old Mrs. Bray's feet.