The action resulted in a slight change in her
expression which Susan's watchfulness at once perceived.
"Was it a needle?" she asked quickly. "Sometimes I stick 'em in while
I'm sewin'. You see, his havin' been paralyzed so many years has got
me where I'm awful careless about leavin' needles in his bed."
"No," said Mrs. Lathrop; "it wasn't a--"
"Come on downstairs again," said the hostess; "we c'n talk there."
They went down into the kitchen, and there Mrs. Lathrop seated herself
and coughed solemnly.
"What is it, anyhow?" the younger woman demanded.
Mrs. Lathrop coughed again.
"Susan, did I feel a feather--"
"Yes," said Susan, in great surprise; "he likes one."
"I sh'd think it was too hot this--"
"He don't never complain o' the heat, 'n' he hates the chill o' rainy
days."
Mrs. Lathrop coughed again.
Miss Clegg's interest bordered on impatience.
"Now, Susan, I ain't sayin' as it's noways true, but I _have_ heard as
there's them 's can't die on--"
"On feathers?" cried the daughter.
"Yes; they say they hold the life right in 'n'--"
Miss Clegg's eyes opened widely.
"But I couldn't take it away from him, anyhow," she said, with a
species of determined resignation in her voice.
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