He placed the black
bottles neatly in rows on an old box in the corner, and piled the skins on
one another, and sorted the rubbish in all the boxes; and at eleven o'clock
his work was almost done. He seated himself on the packing-case which had
once held Waldo's books, and proceeded to examine the contents of another
which he had not yet looked at. It was carelessly nailed down. He
loosened one plank, and began to lift out various articles of female
attire--old-fashioned caps, aprons, dresses with long pointed bodies such
as he remembered to have seen his mother wear when he was a little child.
He shook them out carefully to see there were no moths, and then sat down
to fold them up again one by one. They had belonged to Em's mother, and
the box, as packed at her death, had stood untouched and forgotten these
long years. She must have been a tall woman, that mother of Em's, for when
he stood up to shake out a dress the neck was on a level with his, and the
skirt touched the ground. Gregory laid a nightcap out on his knee, and
began rolling up the strings; but presently his fingers moved slower and
slower, then his chin rested on his breast, and finally the imploring blue
eyes were fixed on the frill abstractedly. When Em's voice called to him
from the foot of the ladder he started, and threw the nightcap behind him.
Pages:
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325