‘I was coming this way,’ he said at last, ’and thought I’d stop and see how you stood the journey, and I’ve brought you some roses.’

He held them toward her, and with a bright smile she came forward to receive them.

‘Oh, thank you, Tom,’ she said, ’it was so kind in you.  Roses are my favorites after the white pond lilies, and these are very sweet.’

She buried her face in them two or three times, and then, putting them in some water, resumed her position by the wash-tub.

‘I’d like you to drive with me,’ Tom said, ’but I see you are too busy.  Must you do that work, Jerrie?  Can’t somebody—­can’t your grandmother do it for you?’

‘Grandmother!  That old lady do my washing!  No, indeed!’ Jerrie answered, scornfully, as she made a dive into the boiler with the clothes-stick and brought out a pair of Mrs. Crawford’s long knit stockings, and dropped them into the rinsing water with a splash.

‘Grandma has worked enough,’ she continued, as she plunged both her arms into the water.  ’Harold and I shall take care of her now.  He was up this morning at four o’clock, and has gone to Mr. Allen’s, four miles away, to paint a room for him like mine.’

She said this a little defiantly, for she felt hot and resentful that Tom Tracy should be sitting there at his ease, while Harold was literally working for his daily bread, and also took a kind of bitter pride in letting Tom know that she was not ashamed of Harold’s work.

‘Yes,’ Tom drawled, ’that new room must have cost Hal his bottom dollar.  We all wondered how he could afford it.  I hope you like it.’

She was too angry to tell him whether she liked it or not, for she knew the speech was a mean one and prompted by a mean spirit, and she kept on rubbing a towel until there was danger of its being rubbed into shreds.  Then suddenly remembering that Tom had not told her of Maude, she repeated her question.  ’How is Maude?  She was coming to see me this morning I hope I shall be done before she gets here.’

‘Don’t hurry yourself for Maude,’ Tom replied.  ’She will not be here to-day.  I had nearly forgotten that she sent her love and wants you to come there.  She is sick in bed, or was when I left.  She had a slight hemorrhage last night.  I think it was from her stomach, though, and so does mother, but father is scared to death, as he always is if Maude has a pain in her little finger.’

‘Oh, Tom,’ Jerrie said, recalling with a pang the thin face, the blue-veined hands, the tired look of the young girl at the station.  ’Oh, Tom, why didn’t you tell me before, so I could hurry and go to her;’ and leaning over her tub Jerrie began to cry, while Tom looked curiously at her, wondering if she really cared so much for his sister.

‘Don’t cry, Jerrie,’ he said, at last, very tenderly for him.  ’Maude is not so bad; the doctor has no fear.  She is only tired with all she has done lately.  You know, perhaps, that she was here constantly with Harold, and I believe she actually painted for him some, and for aught I know helped shingle the roof, as Billy said.’