“Yes, my dear, I am over seventy,” she said, quietly. “And I don’t know that it would do you any harm. You have to face the world, too, one of these days. Please God, you may have a more guarded entrance into it than I had! Here is a cushion for your back, Mrs Rhoda; and, Phoebe, my dear, here is one for you. Let me reach my knitting, and then you shall hear my story. But it will be a long one.”
“So much the better, if ’tis agreeable,” answered Rhoda. “I don’t care for stories that are over in a minute.”
“This will not be over in a day,” said Mrs Dorothy.
“All right,” responded Rhoda, settling herself as comfortably as she could. “I say, Phoebe, change cushions with me; I’m sure you’ve got the softer.”
And Phoebe obeyed in an instant.
Chapter Three.
Little Mrs Dorothy.
“And the thousands come and go
All along the crowded street;
But they give no ear to the things we know,
And they pass with careless feet.
For some hearts are hard with gold,
And some are crushed in the throng,
And some with the pleasures of life are cold—
How long, O Lord, how long!”