And how good a mother she would
of been to it. Some women has jest natcherally
GOT to mother something or other. Miss Lucy
was one of that kind. I knowed all in a flash, whilst I
looked at her there, why she had adopted Martha
fur her child.
It was a wonderful look that was onto her face.
And it was a wonderful face that look was onto. I
felt like I had knowed her forever when I seen her
there. Like the thoughts of her the doctor had been
carrying around with him fur years and years, and
that I had caught him thinking oncet or twicet, had
been my thoughts too, all my life.
Miss Lucy, she was one of the kind there's no use
trying to describe. The feller that could see her
that-a-way and not feel made good by it orter have
a whaling. Not the kind of sticky, good feeling
that makes you uncomfortable, like being pestered
by your conscience to jine a church or quit cussing.
But the kind of good that makes you forget they is
anything on earth but jest braveness of heart and
being willing to bear things you can't help. You
knowed the world had hurt her a lot when you seen
her standing there; but you didn't have the nerve to
pity her none, either. Fur you could see she had
got over pitying herself. Even when she was in
that muse, longing with all her soul fur that child
she had never knowed, you didn't have the nerve
to pity her none.
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