“This is your doings!” she said, threading the thick locks fiercely with her fingers. “It was a yard and a quarter long when you swore it off my head. Well, never mind, every dog has its day, and mine is coming round with a sharp turn. Before this gets to its length again, you’ll be six feet under ground, or where I just came from.”
“Hush, now do hush,” pleaded the old woman, with a feeble attempt at her old cajoling tone. “Don’t talk about being six feet under ground. I’m only a little weak, you know, and grieved at the ingratitude of the world. Just look there, Jane Kelly, my dear old friend; look at Peg; I would have staked anything on the faithfulness of that cat; but ever since I’ve been sick she’s never been near my bed, but goes off mousing and stealing for herself, just as if I wasn’t here and couldn’t be hungry, I, who taught her the difference between cooked birds right from the restaurant and live mice. Would you believe it, ever since I’ve been unable to help myself, she’s done nothing but catch mice.”
There the old woman’s passion threw her into a coughing-fit, but the moment it was over, she began again.
“To-day, when she came with a bird dripping with gravy in her jaws, I tried to coax her up to the bed; but no, there she stood leering at me with her round, glaring eye, and munched the bird up bones and all before my face. I tried to get at her, but the room turned black as midnight, and though I could hear her crunching and growling under the bed, it was of no use pleading. Look at her there, Jane Kelly, the viper that I warmed in my bosom, and if you wish to fight anything, try her, she deserves it. But I,—just come to the bed, my friend, take my hand, there’s nothing but kindness in me. I’m full of friendship for you. Sickness and trouble have changed me, Jane, and if I did you any harm, it has been repented of long and long ago.”
Jane scarcely seemed to heed all this, save that she went up to the hearth and gave Peg, the cat, a vigorous kick with one of the heavy prison-shoes that still encased her feet. This injunction to punish the cat seemed to be the only portion of the old woman’s speech that impressed her enough for action. Though it was very evident that the miserable old creature was absolutely suffering from starvation, Jane seemed in no hurry to relieve the discomforts of her position, but seated herself in one of the dilapidated chairs, and took a well-satisfied survey of the room, till her fierce gaze at last encountered the keen, black eyes of her enemy glancing upon her from the bed.
“So you have suffered a good deal?” she said, abruptly.
“A great deal. You would be sorry for me, Jane, if you knew how much.”
“I’m not sure about that. Hungry sometimes, eh?”
“I’m hungry now!” answered the sick woman, while tears dropped like single hail-stones from her eyes; “I’m very hungry, Jane Kelly.”
“And thirsty?”