A WAITING GAME
"Just the same, Mr. Tom. There ain't no special difference, as I can see—or anybody, I guess. She jest lays there an' sleeps an' talks some, an' tries ter smile an' be 'glad' 'cause the sun sets or the moon rises, or some other such thing, till it's enough ter make yer heart break with achin'."
"I know; it's the 'game'—bless her sweet heart!" nodded Old Tom, blinking a little.
"She told you, then, too, about that 'ere—game?"
"Oh, yes. She told me long ago." The old man hesitated, then went on, his lips twitching a little. "I was growlin' one day 'cause I was so bent up and crooked; an' what do ye s'pose the little thing said?"
"I couldn't guess. I wouldn't think she could find anythin' about that ter be glad about!"
"She did. She said I could be glad, anyhow, that I didn't have ter stoop so far ter do my weedin'—'cause I was already bent part way over."
Nancy gave a wistful laugh.
"Well, I ain't surprised, after all. You might know she'd find somethin'. We've been playin' it—that game—since almost the first, 'cause there wa'n't no one else she could play it with—though she did speak of—her aunt."
"Miss Polly!"
Nancy chuckled.
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