"I've
been in there sometimes toward the last when she was too feeble to
cook and carried her some blanc-mange or custard--somethin' I
thought she might relish, and she'd thank me, and when I asked her
how she was, say she felt better than she did yesterday, and asked
me if I didn't think she looked better, dreadful pitiful, and say
poor Luella had an awful time takin' care of her and doin' the
work--she wa'n't strong enough to do anythin'--when all the time
Luella wa'n't liftin' her finger and poor Lily didn't get any care
except what the neighbours gave her, and Luella eat up everythin'
that was carried in for Lily. I had it real straight that she did.
Luella used to just sit and cry and do nothin'. She did act real
fond of Lily, and she pined away considerable, too. There was
those that thought she'd go into a decline herself. But after Lily
died, her Aunt Abby Mixter came, and then Luella picked up and grew
as fat and rosy as ever. But poor Aunt Abby begun to droop just
the way Lily had, and I guess somebody wrote to her married
daughter, Mrs. Sam Abbot, who lived in Barre, for she wrote her
mother that she must leave right away and come and make her a
visit, but Aunt Abby wouldn't go.
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