Even the pitcher and basin were elaborately ornamented with peonies,
the colour of the sampler in crewel work over the washstand; and on the
bureau, between two crocheted mats of an intricate pattern, there was a
pincushion in the shape of a monstrous tomato.
Yes, it was all ready for them, she reflected, while she stood in the
doorway and surveyed the results of her handiwork. "Thar's something
wantin'," she observed presently to herself. "I never could feel that
a weddin' or a funeral was finished without a calla lily somewhere
around." Going downstairs to the kitchen, she clipped the last forced
blossoms of an unusual size from her "prize" plant, and brought them
back in a small glass vase to decorate Judy's bureau. "Now it's just
like it was when I was married," she thought, "an' it's just as it
will be when Abel's sons are bringin' home their brides." There was no
sentiment in her thoughts, for she regarded sentiment as a mere morbid
stimulant to the kind of emotion she considered both dangerous and
useless. Even the look on Abel's face, which she had been forced to
recognize as that of despair, seemed to her, on the whole, a safer
expression than one of a too-exultant joy.
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