‘Sixpence,’ said the woman, sniffing.
‘You poor dear,’ said Caroline, and put her arms round the woman’s neck. ‘Now,’ she said comfortably, ‘you just fancy I’m your own little girl and tell me what’s the matter.’
‘I can’t attend to you. Go away!‘
The woman turned her face and kissed Caroline.
‘Bless you for a silly little duck,’ she said. ‘My own little gell’s in service over Tonbridge way. It’s silly of me taking on like that. But it come so sudden.’
‘What did?’ Caroline asked. ‘Do tell me. Perhaps I can help. I’ve got an uncle, and I know he’d give me some money for you, if that’s it. And, besides, I can make nice things happen sometimes—I really can.’
‘It isn’t money,’ said the woman drearily, ‘and I don’t know why I should tell you.’
‘It eases the heart, you know,’ said Caroline; ‘my aunt says it does. Do tell me. I’m so sorry you’re unhappy.’
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ said the woman, drying her eyes. ‘It’s silly, I know. But I only heard this morning, and just now it all come over me when I was sorting out the bottles. I was born in the little house, you see, and lived here all my life. And now to leave! A week’s notice too! Where’m I to go to? How’m I to manage? What’m I to get my living by? You see, being right on the highroad I get all the thirsty customers as they comes by. Where’m I to go to? There’s a cottage back by Wright’s farm; ne’er a bit of garden to it, and nobody passes it one year’s end to another. I’d never sell a single bottle if I lived there to be a hundred.’