This speech, while it mollified Polly, made Mary shudder, as she thought of Alice’s being “managed” by such a woman.  But she had no time for thought, for Polly, who was very rapid in her movements, and always in a hurry, said, “Come, child, I will show you where you are going to sleep;” at the same time she caught up Alice, who, not liking her handling, kicked so vigorously that she was soon dropped; Polly remarking, that “she was mighty strong in her legs for a sick baby.”

After passing up a dark stairway they came to a door, which opened under the garret stairs, and Mary was startled by a voice which seemed to be almost over her head, and which, between a sneer and a hiss, called out, “See where the immaculate Miss Grundy comes!”

This was followed by a wild, insane chuckle, which made Mary spring in terror to Polly’s side.

“Oh, who is it?” said she.  “Is it Patsy?”

“Patsy!” was the tart reply.  “She never is saucy like that.  It’s Sal Furbush.”

Mary longed to ask who Sal Furbush was; but as her guide did not seem, at all inclined to be communicative, she followed on in silence until they came to a longer and lighter hall, or “spaceway,” as it is frequently called in New England.  On each side of this there were doors opening into small sleeping rooms, and into one of these Polly led her companion, saying, as she did so, “This is your room, and it’s a great favor to you to be so near me.  But mind, that child mustn’t cry and keep me awake nights, for if she does, may-be you’ll have to move into that other space, where we heard the laugh.”

Mary thought she would rather do any thing than that.  She also felt a great curiosity to know who her companion was, so she at last ventured to ask, “Do you live here, Miss Polly?”

“Why, yes, I’m staying here for a spell now:—­kind of seeing to things.  My name isn’t Polly.  It’s Mrs. Mary Grundy, and somehow folks have got to nicknaming me Polly, but it’ll look more mannerly in you to call me Mrs. Grundy; but what am I thinking of?  The folks must have their supper.  So you’d better come down now.”

“If you please,” said Mary, who knew she could not eat a mouthful, “If you please, I’d rather stay here and rest me if I can have some milk for Alice by and by.”

“Mercy sakes, ain’t that child weaned?” asked Mrs. Grundy.

“Ma’am?” said Mary, not exactly understanding her.

“Ain’t Ellis weaned, or must we break into the cream a dozen times a day for her?”

“She has never eaten any thing but milk,” said Mary, weeping to think how different Mrs. Grundy’s manner was from her own dear mother’s.

“Wall, there’s no use blubberin’ so.  If she must have milk, why she must, and that’s the end on’t.  But what I want to know is, how folks as poor as yourn, could afford to buy milk for so big a child.”

Mary could have told of many hungry nights which she and Frank had passed in order that Ella and Alice might be fed, but she made no remark, and Mrs. Grundy soon left the room saying, “Come down when you get ready for the milk I s’pose skim will do.”