"Yes, come right up. I told her you were coming, but she says she won't see you. But I think she will," said Mrs. Smith.
"Of course she will. I'm comin' right along. Daphne, you go out on the porch there with the ladies and open them baskets. I worked half the night and kept the cook up the other half to get the things ready. The names is on the things. You give 'em to the ladies, and jest stay and let 'em look at you. It'll be a treat as good as the things in the baskets."
She followed Barbara up the long stairs. At the door she turned.
"Don't come in, Barbara; I'll go in alone." And she went into the "best" room of the home, because Mrs. Abbott had been able to pay a little more than that paid by the other guests.
Drusilla found the little woman in bed, with her face turned to the wall. She did not move until Drusilla put her hand on her shoulder.
"I've come to see you, Mis' Abbott."
The woman looked up at Drusilla a moment, then put her faded old hands over her face.
"I don't want to see you, Drusilla, I don't want to see you."
"Pshaw, now," answered Drusilla, "yes, you do, Mis' Abbott. I come jest a purpose to see you."
"Oh, but I don't want to see you," wailed the feeble old voice. "I always called you 'charity' and now I'm charity myself. I wish I could die, I wish I could die!"