"Rest quietly, Mrs. Grumble," he said. "Your
troubles are over. For you there is neither doubt nor grief; life does
not matter to you any more. Nor does it matter very much to me. For
there is no one now to care what I do. I am no trouble to anybody."
The chilly breath of morning filled the valley with mist, fine, gray,
imperceptible in the faint light of dawn. And a farmer's cart, as it
rattled down the road, woke, in his chair, the old schoolmaster from
the reverie into which he had fallen.
Faint and clear the early lights of the village went out, leaving the
valley empty and cold. A freight train whistled at the junction, and
crept, with tolling bell, over the switches, to the south.
The sun, rising, poured its yellow light into Mrs. Grumble's room,
illuminating the bed, with its silent burden, and the still figure
huddled in the chair. Slowly, and with difficulty, Mr. Jeminy got to
his feet and crossed to the window. There his gaze encountered Mrs.
Wicket, coming up the hill.
Blowing on his hands, Mr.
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