"The people must have stared, Sal, to see you and Pharaoh walking together."
"We didn't mind that. We walks straight to the horspital, and there's father laying in bed. 'Shall I ever git better?' says father to Pharer. 'No,' says Pharer, 'you'll never git better. Do you hear, Sal? Father'll never git better.' Then we goes out of the horspital, me and Pharer, and walks miles and miles into the country, and we come to a big, big place with stone walls. 'Mother's in there, Sal,' says Pharer; and I peeps through and sees poor mother working and working."
"Was it a prison, then, that mother was in?"
"No, it was a workus. 'If you was to go to her,' says Pharer, she'd be turned away. She's got eighteen pound a year.' Is that a lot?" asked Sally, suddenly breaking off.
"It's a lot taken in a lump," replied Seth, upon whose face a more thoughtful expression was gathering, "and a year's a lot, too, Sally."
"Is three-and-sixpence a week a lot for a gal's keep?" asked Sally, pursuing her inquiries.
"What sort of a girl? One who would make herself handy?"
"Oh, yes; and do anythink, never mind what. Clean and scrub, and git up early and light the fire and go of errands----" Thus Sally breathlessly ran on.
"But this girl's so small--not strong enough to do all that."
"She'd git bigger, and stronger, and older, every day. And you don't know, oh, you don't know what she wouldn't do, if you wanted her to! And she'd be as good as gold."