Those years of work and buffeting had made of
me a broader, finer, truer type of womanhood--had caused
me to forget my own little tragedy in contemplating the
great human comedy. And so I made a little prayer there
in the moon-flooded room.
"O dear Lord," I prayed, and I did not mean that it
should sound irreverent. "O dear Lord, don't bother
about my ambitions! Just let me remain strong and well
enough to do the work that is my portion from day to day.
Keep me faithful to my standards of right and wrong. Let
this new and wonderful love which has come into my life
be a staff of strength and comfort instead of a burden of
weariness. Let me not grow careless and slangy as the
years go by. Let me keep my hair and complexion and
teeth, and deliver me from wearing soiled blouses and
doing my hair in a knob. Amen."
I felt quite cheerful after that--so cheerful that
the strange bumps in the new bed did not bother me as
unfamiliar beds usually did. The roses I put to sleep in
their jar of green, keeping one to hold against my cheek
as I slipped into dreamland. I thought drowsily, just
before sleep claimed me:
"To-morrow, after office hours, I'll tuck up my
skirt, and wrap my head in a towel and have a
housecleaning bee.
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