The widow was not in her best mood, for she was very tired, having done a heavy washing in the morning before Rose Mather had thought of opening her bright eyes; then, after the coarser, larger pieces were dried and ironed, she had tried to spin, a work to which she clung as tenaciously as if on every stream in New England there were not a cotton or woolen factory capable of doing the work so much easier and better than herself. The widow was fond of spinning, and she had turned the wheel with a right good will, until Isaac had complained that the continuous humming hurt his head, and made him think of the wind as it howled so dismally around the dreary prison in Richmond. Libby, they called it now, and Isaac always shuddered when he heard the name and thought of what he suffered there. Isaac was very weak and pale, and his face looked like that of some young girl as he lay among his pillows, in the pretty dressing-gown which Rose had bought and Annie had made for him. He was sleeping when Rose came in, and the widow’s “Hsh-sh,” came warningly as a greeting, but came too late, for Rose’s blithesome voice had roused him, and his glad, welcoming smile more than counterbalanced the frown which settled on the widow’s face when she saw her boy disturbed. Rose was accustomed to the widow’s ways, and throwing off her shawl and untying her hat, she sat down on the foot of Isaac’s bed, and drawing Jimmie’s letter from her pocket began: “I’ve got such splendid news for you, Mrs. Simms,—at least, I think I have. Yes, I know it’s sure to come true. Eli is going to be a lieutenant, with twelve hundred dollars a year. Such a heap of money for him; and it’s all Jimmie’s doings, too. He would not have the office because he did not think he deserved it. Listen to what he says.” Both the Widow and Susan were close to Rose now, the frown all gone from the widow’s brow, and the pucker from her mouth; but both came back in a trice, as blundering Rose read on about “Hophni,” and “Phineas,” and “Eli,” till she came to the “_crabbed_,” which she called “_crab-apple_,” and then stopped short, her face a perfect blaze, as she tried to apologize. “’Tain’t wuth while to soap it over,” the widow said, fiercely. “I _be_ a crab-apple, I s’pose, and a gnarly one at that, but I am as I was made, and I’d like to know if _crabs_ wan’t as good as _Secessioners_.” “Please, mother, never mind,” Isaac said, pleadingly, and his voice always quieted the fiery woman, who listened while Rose read of Eli’s good fortune, and made another terrible mistake by stumbling upon Jimmie’s opinion of Isaac’s sickness. She only read, “He is not long for this world,” but that was enough to bring a flush to his brow, and blanch his mother’s cheek; while, with a gush of tears, Rose hid her face in Susan’s lap, and sobbed: