"Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Mrs. Harper, I know just
exactly how you feel. No longer ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took
and filled the cat full of Pain-killer, and I did think the cretur would
tear the house down. And God forgive me, I cracked Tom's head with my
thimble, poor boy, poor dead boy. But he's out of all his troubles now.
And the last words I ever heard him say was to reproach--"
But this memory was too much for the old lady, and she broke entirely
down. Tom was snuffling, now, himself--and more in pity of himself than
anybody else. He could hear Mary crying, and putting in a kindly word
for him from time to time. He began to have a nobler opinion of himself
than ever before. Still, he was sufficiently touched by his aunt's grief
to long to rush out from under the bed and overwhelm her with joy--and
the theatrical gorgeousness of the thing appealed strongly to his
nature, too, but he resisted and lay still.