The delight that was
in my heart showed in my face, and the man saw it and was pleased;
saw it so plainly that he answered it as if it had been spoken.
"All her work," he said, caressingly; "she did it all herself
--every bit," and he took the room in with a glance which was full
of affectionate worship. One of those soft Japanese fabrics
with which women drape with careful negligence the upper part of a
picture-frame was out of adjustment. He noticed it, and rearranged
it with cautious pains, stepping back several times to gauge
the effect before he got it to suit him. Then he gave it a light
finishing pat or two with his hand, and said: "She always does that.
You can't tell just what it lacks, but it does lack something
until you've done that--you can see it yourself after it's done,
but that is all you know; you can't find out the law of it.
It's like the finishing pats a mother gives the child's hair
after she's got it combed and brushed, I reckon. I've seen her
fix all these things so much that I can do them all just her way,
though I don't know the law of any of them. But she knows the law.
She knows the why and the how both; but I don't know the why;
I only know the how."
He took me into a bedroom so that I might wash my hands; such a bedroom
as I had not seen for years: white counterpane, white pillows,
carpeted floor, papered walls, pictures, dressing-table, with mirror
and pin-cushion and dainty toilet things; and in the corner a wash-stand,
with real china-ware bowl and pitcher, and with soap in a china dish,
and on a rack more than a dozen towels--towels too clean and white
for one out of practice to use without some vague sense of profanation.
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