"I can't," said poor Bet. "I'd like little Miss Joy to love me, that I would; and I thought she was beginning to love me, and now she'll have her mother, and never want me."
"Or me," Mrs. Harrison said. "I might say the same; but I think it would be a great mistake if I did, for I believe dear little Joy will love you and me and Uncle Bobo just the same as ever."
"Do you?" Bet said; "that's good to hear;" and then Bet opened the door and went up the long narrow passage to the front of the house.
Mrs. Skinner was seated by the table in the kitchen, stiff and straight; her hands were folded, and she only nodded as Bet put the basket on the table with both her tired arms.
"Grannie, Mrs. Harrison is come to see you."
"I don't want Mrs. Harrison," was the reply.
"I won't stay long, Mrs. Skinner," Patience said. Mrs. Skinner's back was turned to the door, and she never moved her position.
Patience advanced to her side and said—
"Bet thought you would like to hear some good news."
"There is never good news for me," was the answer, in a tone so hard and yet so pathetic that Patience's heart was touched.