" Then she had
dreamed dreams of silks and satins and prancing steeds
and liveried servants, and ease, and happiness--dreams
which God in His mercy had let her forget long, long ago.
When she had become the mistress of the big stone house,
she had struggled hard against her husband's penuriousness,
defiantly sometimes, and sometimes tearfully. But he had
held her down with a heavy hand of unyielding determination.
At last she grew weary of struggling, and settled down
in sullen submission, a hopeless heavy-eyed, spiritless
women, and as time went by she became greedier for money
than her husband.
"Good-morning," Pearl said brightly. "Are you Mr. Tom
Motherwell?"
"That's what!" Tom replied. "Only you needn't mind the
handle."
Pearl laughed.
"All right," she said, "I want a little favor done. Will
you open the window upstairs for me?"
"Why?" Tom asked, staring at her.
"To let in good air. It's awful close up there, and I'm
afraid I'll get the fever or somethin' bad."
"Polly got it," Tom said. "Maybe that is why Polly got
it. She's awful sick now. Ma says she'll like as not die.
But I don't believe ma will let me open it."
"Where is Polly?" Pearl asked eagerly. She had forgotten
her own worries. "Who is Polly? Did she live here?"
"She's in the hospital now in Brandon," Tom said in answer
to her rapid questions. "She planted them poppies out
there, but she never seen the flowers on them.
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