"Thank you," said the taller of the men dryly. "Our business is with Miss Doane."
He accompanied Mrs. Smith politely to the door and closed it, then, returning, drew a chair near to Drusilla.
"We are the bearer of news to you, Miss Doane."
Drusilla clasped her hands a little tighter.
"Has anything happened?" she said. "But nothing could happen that would matter to me, unless—" a panic stricken look came into her old eyes "unless—the Committee hain't decided that I can't live here, has it? They ain't goin' to send me to the county house, be they? I work real well, Mr. Thornton; I work as hard as I can. I'm sure I pay fer my keep."
The tall man cleared his throat and said stiffly: "No, Miss Doane, we are the bearer of good news."
The short fat man bent over and impulsively patted the hands that were so tightly clenched in her lap.
"No, Miss Doane, you don't need to worry about the county house. You're not going to it yet."
Drusilla drew a deep breath of relief, and the frightened look died from her eyes. She leaned back in her chair.
"Then I don't know what you've got to tell me. It can't be that some one I know is dead, because all of my friends died long ago."