“Vy didn’t you send yer mother to a ’ospital?” Mrs. Wheaton asked, joining the girls at the table.

“Don’t say ‘hospital’ so mother can hear you.  The very word would kill her now, for there’s nothing on earth she dreads more than that they’ll separate us and send her to a hospital.  I’ve sometimes thought it would have been best, and then it seemed it would kill her at once, she was so opposed to it.  That we might keep together and to buy her delicacies I’ve parted with nearly everything in the room, as you see,” and it was bare indeed.  A bed from which the element of comfort had long since departed, two rickety chairs, a pine table, a rusty stove, and a few dishes and cooking utensils were about all there was left.  With eyes slowly dilating Mildred took in the bleak truth, but said only a few gentle words and was very busy.  She lifted Mrs. Bute’s head, while Clara gave her a little bread soaked in wine, and then aided Mrs. Wheaton in making the room and bed a little more like what they should be by means of the articles they had brought.  Clara wonderingly saw that her little closet was stocked with supplies for days to come.  Her mother’s preternaturally brilliant eyes followed every movement, also, with a dumb but eager questioning.  Tired Belle in the meantime had drawn a chair to the table, and with her head resting on her arms had dropped asleep in a moment.

“Why should your sister work in a store if you’re not poor?” Clara asked Mildred.  “You can’t be poor and spare all these things.”

“Yes, we’re poor, but not so poor as you are,” said Mildred simply.  “Belle touched our hearts in your behalf, and we see you need a little neighborly help.”

“Well, I was never so mistaken in any one in my life,” Clara exclaimed, looking at the sleeping girl, with a remorseful gush of tears.  “There isn’t a bad streak in her.”

At this moment the door opened, and two girls, who had been Clara’s companions at the shop, appeared with a few meagre parcels.  Before asking them in she pulled them back in the hall and there were a few moments of eager whispering.  Then they all came in and looked at Belle, and Clara stooped down and kissed her lightly, at which the girl smiled and murmured, “Dear little mother—­always brooding over her chicks.”

“She thinks she’s home,” explained Mildred, with moist eyes.

“This is her sister,” said Clara, “and this lady is a friend of theirs.  I know they’ve robbed themselves, they’ve brought so much.”

“Vun’s honly ter come to Hameriker ter be a lady,” chuckled Mrs. Wheaton under her breath.

“We won’t wake your sister,” said one of the girls.  “She’s tired, and no wonder.  We haven’t treated her right at the store, but we wasn’t to blame, for we didn’t know her at all.  Please tell her that we’ll give her a different reception to-morrow,” and after another season of whispering in the hall they departed, leaving the simple offerings gleaned from their poverty.