She found Mrs. Vincey sitting on the veranda, darning.
“Joey! So early! What’s the matter, dear?”
“I just felt—tired,” replied Joey; “but I’ll be all right after a nice cup of tea, gran.”
“We’ve run out of tea, Joey.”
“Oh!” said Joey, and sat down on the steps.
Mrs. Vincey stood behind her, turning and turning a sock in her thin hands.
“Unless you—brought home—anything,” she said.
“There wasn’t anything coming to me this week,” said Joey.
There was a moment’s silence. Mrs. Vincey stood looking down at that little dark head.
“Would you like a glass of lemonade, Joey?” she asked.