"And the eaves tipped with geranium red!" cried Sylvia.
"And a real tree on each side of the front door, and new steps!"
exclaimed Sister Agatha.
When they entered the house the amazement and delight of the two sisters
was a joy to my soul. They cried out at the carpet on the floor, the
paper on the walls, the tables, the chairs, the bureau, the
looking-glass, the three framed lithographs on the wall, the clock, and
the shining new bedstead on which their patient lay.
"If Mother Anastasia could but see this," cried Sylvia, "she would
believe in the brotherhood."
"He sez yer angels," said the woman of the house, coming forward,
"that's what he sez; an' he's roight too, for with thim Pepper Pod
Plasters, an' the smell of paint in the house which he hates, he'll be
out o' doors in two days, or I'm much mishtaken."
Sylvia and I now approached the old man to see what he thought about it.
He was very grateful, and said nothing about the smell of paint, but we
found him with a burning desire in his heart which had been fanned into
flames by the arrival of the groceries on the day before. He eagerly
asked us if we could make coffee; when he was well he could make it
himself, but since he had been lying on that bed, he had not tasted a
drop of the beloved liquid.
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