The old lady opened her
eyes.
"Elizabeth," she said abruptly, just as when she was well, "you've been a
good girl. I'm glad you came. I couldn't have died right without you. I
never thought much about these things before, but it really is worth
while. In my Father's house. He is my Father, Elizabeth."
She went to sleep then, and Elizabeth tiptoed out and left her with the
nurse. By and by Marie came crying in, and told her that the Madam was
dead.
Elizabeth was used to having people die. She was not shocked; only it
seemed lonely again to find herself facing the world, in a foreign land.
And when she came to face the arrangements that had to be made, which,
after all, money and servants made easy, she found herself dreading her
own land. What must she do after her grandmother was laid to rest? She
could not live in the great house in Rittenhouse Square, and neither could
she very well go and live in Flora Street. O, well, her Father would hide
her. She need not plan; He would plan for her. The mansions on the earth
were His too, as well as those in heaven.
And so resting she passed through the weary voyage and the day when the
body was laid to rest in the Bailey lot in the cemetery, and she went back
to the empty house alone. It was not until after the funeral that she went
to see Grandmother Brady. She had not thought it wise or fitting to invite
the hostile grandmother to the other one's funeral. She had thought
Grandmother Bailey would not like it.
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