In a tin cup over the fire a small quantity of meal was boiling, and in a bowl on the table was a little milk. A few pieces of bread were lying near it. (His cousin’s elegant dinner here recurred to Peter’s mind.)
One of the old women was bedridden, but was now sitting up in her bed; and both were at work unwinding great skeins of yarn, parting the different colors and winding these up again into separate balls. This was for one of the mills in the neighborhood. Both of the old bodies were cheerful, and showed great pleasure when the doctor came in. The well one bustled about and set out a chair for him, and another for Peter. The doctor sat down and talked with them, and listened to all they had to say.
“Sister has been a good deal better for the past week,” said the well one, “and the mills are busy, and we have plenty of work.”
“But your rent?” asked the doctor. “It comes due soon, doesn’t it?”
“We have it all made up,” said the old woman, triumphantly. “It is in yonder bureau-drawer, ready now. God has been very good to us. We don’t want any help this time.”
It was nearly dark when the doctor and Peter came out of the little house. As they were about to part, the doctor said: