“I’d reason to be,” returned Susan. “She was only a delicate little young thing—but she came an’ stayed by me when I was in hell an’ no one else would give me a drop of water to cool my tongue.”
“I know something about that,” said Miss Amory; “I have heard it talked of. Where’s your child?”
Susan did not redden, but the hard look came back to her face for a moment.
“It didn’t live but a few minutes,” she answered.
“What are you doing for your living?”
A faint red showed itself on the girl’s haggard cheeks, and she stared at her with indifferent blankness.
“I worked in the mill till my health broke down for a spell, an’ I had to give up. I’m better now, but I’ve not got a cent to live on, an’ my place was filled up right away.”
“Where’s the man?” Miss Amory demanded.
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard a word of him since he slid off to Chicago.”
“Humph!” said Miss Amory.