Caroline, who was writing some letters at the table, turned to
Rebecca, in her usual place on the sofa.
"Rebecca, you had better get a lamp," she said.
Rebecca started up; even in the dusk her face showed her agitation.
"It doesn't seem to me that we need a lamp quite yet," she said in
a piteous, pleading voice like a child's.
"Yes, we do," returned Mrs. Brigham peremptorily. "We must have a
light. I must finish this to-night or I can't go to the funeral,
and I can't see to sew another stitch."
"Caroline can see to write letters, and she is farther from the
window than you are," said Rebecca.
"Are you trying to save kerosene or are you lazy, Rebecca Glynn?"
cried Mrs. Brigham. "I can go and get the light myself, but I have
this work all in my lap."
Caroline's pen stopped scratching.
"Rebecca, we must have the light," said she.
"Had we better have it in here?" asked Rebecca weakly.
"Of course! Why not?" cried Caroline sternly.
"I am sure I don't want to take my sewing into the other room, when
it is all cleaned up for to-morrow," said Mrs. Brigham.
"Why, I never heard such a to-do about lighting a lamp.
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