"Rosemary," said Aunt Matilda, a little later; "Ma's a hard woman--she always has been."
"I ain't never said much, but I've had my own troubles. I've tried to bear 'em patiently, but sometimes I ain't been patient--she's always made me feel so ugly."
Rosemary said nothing, but she felt a strange softening of her heart toward Aunt Matilda. "I don't know as you'll believe me," the older woman went on after a pause, "but I never knew nothin' about that money."
"I know you didn't, Aunt Matilda. It's behind a loose brick in the chimney, in the attic, on the right-hand side. You have to stand on a chair to reach it. If you want any of it, go and help yourself. It's mine, and you're welcome to it, as far as I'm concerned."
"I don't know what I'd want," returned Matilda, gloomily. "I ain't never had nothin', and I've sort of got out of the habit. I did used to think that if it ever come my way, I'd like a white straw hat with red roses on it, but I'm too old for it now."
Tears of pity filled Rosemary's eyes and a lump rose in her throat. Aunt Matilda's deprivations had been as many as her own, and had extended over a much longer period. The way of escape was open for Rosemary, but the older woman must go on, hopelessly, until the end.
"It was sixteen years ago to-night," said Aunt Matilda, dreamily, "that the minister come to call."
"Was it?" asked Rosemary. She did not know what else to say.
"I thought maybe you'd remember it, but I guess you was too little. You was only nine, and you used to go to bed at half-past seven. It was five minutes of eight when he come."
"Yes. Don't you remember hearin' the door bell ring?"
"Children go to sleep awful quick. It was five minutes of eight when he come."
"No, I wasn't. He'd said to me once, on the way out of church after Sunday-school: 'Miss Matilda, I must be comin' over to see you some one of these pleasant evenings, with your kind permission,' Just like that, he says, 'with your kind permission,' I was so flustered I couldn't say much, but I did manage to tell him that Ma and me would be pleased to see him any time, and what do you suppose he said?"
"He said: 'It's you I'm comin' to see--not your Ma,' Just like that--'It's you!'" Her voice had a new note in it--a strange thrill of tenderness.