"I can forgive myself, if he forgives me," she thought.
There was no butter or milk in the cupboard, and the tableware seemed to be in all stages of decrepitude. The Haviland bowl looked most incongruous in company with the cracked cups and plates on the tray, but Miss Billy was forced to be content. She covered the stove, and turned the drafts in a way she felt sure Mr. Schultzsky would approve, and then, leaving the improvised tray on the shelf, with fear and trembling approached the door of the bedroom. The old man seemed to be asleep. Fearful of disturbing him, Miss Billy stood hesitating in the doorway. Then she cautiously opened the window, and pulled up the shade a few inches. The light showed a dirty room in a great state of disorder. On a chair beside the bed was an array of bottles, dishes, and the remains of a meal. Old clothes were strewn about the floor, dust lay in great rolls everywhere, and the cobwebs under the bed had only been disturbed by the motley pile of shoes and clothing which was thrust underneath. A broken harness was suspended from a hook on one side of the room, and on the opposite wall, crooked and high, hung the picture of a beautiful woman.
Miss Billy went quietly to work to remedy things. She hung up the clothes that littered the place, and arranged the medicine bottles. Just as she was debating with herself as to the advisability of rousing the invalid, the old man moved painfully. "Are you coming, Johanna? Hurry up," he called from beneath the bed clothes. Miss Billy made haste to obey. She brought the tray from the kitchen, and quietly approached the bedside. Mr. Schultzsky lifted the blanket from his face. He looked greyer and older than ever, his hair was matted and towsled, and in the dim light he was a ghostly and forbidding object. Even bold Miss Billy's hands shook as she helped to raise him, and prop him a few inches higher with a pillow. As she took up the tray again the old man glanced at her for the first time. Instead of the stolid Bohemian face he had been expecting to see, Miss Billy's sunny grey eyes, more tender and earnest than usual, looked down into his stony grey ones.
There was a moment's silence in the room. Then Mr. Schultzsky spoke:
"Who are you?" he said.
“Who are you?” he said.
"Don't you know?" answered the girl. "I'm Miss Billy—Wilhelmina Lee—the girl at No. 12. I came to see if there was anything I could do for you."
"Huh," growled the man. The syllable seemed to be forced through his set teeth.