A score of times I tried to speak, but something failed
me, and when I attempted to wave my hand in greeting to her I could not
lift it from the bed.
At last strength came.
"This is John Shadrack's house?" I said.
"Yes," said she, "and I'm his widder."
[Illustration: "And I'm his widder."]
She came to my side and stood looking down at me very hard. I saw a
woman in the indefinable seasons past fifty. In my vague mental
condition, the impression of her came slowly. First it was as though I
saw three cubes, one above the other, the largest in the middle. Then
these took on clothing, blue calico with large polka dots, and the
topmost one crowned itself with thin wisps of hair, parted in the
middle and plastered down at the side. So, little by little, John
Shadrack's widow grew on me, till I saw her a square little old woman,
with a wrinkled, brown face, a perpetual smile and a pipe that snuffled
in a homely, comfortable way.
I smiled. You couldn't help smiling when Mrs. John Shadrack looked
down at you.
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