"That night she come to see me here an' we talked over old times an' all
that had happened since last we met. She'd done well at her sewin', she
said, and brought up the baby in tolerable comfort. Then, just as the
child was growin' into a woman that could be of help to her mother an'
pay her back for her years of workin' an' strugglin', she was took down
with consumption. All the little poor Mona had managed to save went in
carin' for her sick daughter an' buryin' her when she died. By that
time, Mona's health was pretty well broke up, her eyes was not as good
as they used to be, an' she had to give up the sewin'. She fell in with
the old woman who peddled shoestrings, and, by her advice, started in
with her apple-stand. They'd been together ever since an' managed to
earn a livin' between 'em. We talked an' we talked that night, an' when
Mona was goin' she turned to me an' says:
"'Nancy,' says she, 'I can't tell you how thankful I am to have seen
you again. An' I can't tell you how much good you've done me. Nancy,'
says she, 'I've been a wicked woman, a wicked, rebellious woman,' says
she. 'I've said dreadful things in my heart an' felt hard an' bitter at
times against Almighty God for all the trials an' sufferin' He sent me.
When I look at you, I'm ashamed of myself. I've lost a husband, so have
you; I lost a daughter, you lost two; my son sleeps at the bottom of the
sea, but your son--.
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