In answer to Becky’s knock, the door was opened by Mrs. York, a short, buxom woman with a very pleasant face.
“Becky Sleeper—of all things! What in the world brought you here? and what have you got there?”
“Thought we’d come over and bring something to Mr. York. He’s sick—ain’t he?” answered Becky.
“Why, you good little soul! Come right in; my poor man will be dreadful glad to see you.”
Becky and Teddy accepted the cordial invitation, and were ushered into the presence of the “poor man.” Mr. York was by no means so far gone as people imagined. True, there were about him symptoms of the dread disease which New England makes a specialty; but he was a very lazy man, and took advantage of any slight cold to house himself and be nursed by his wife. Mrs. York was not an idle woman; she washed, ironed, and scrubbed in the neighborhood, when her husband worked at his trade; the moment he “felt bad” she dropped all outside labor, and gave her attention to him, magnifying his troubles by her sympathy, and thus making a “baby” of a man who was strong enough to support his family, had he the inclination. Of course, in this state of affairs, there was no income, and the active charity of Cleverly had a loud call in that direction.
The room was neat and tidy; the “poor man” lay upon a sofa; two of the five children with which this couple were blessed were playing about the room; two were at church; the eldest, Silly, was in the next room, putting away her things, having just returned from Mrs. Thompson’s.
“Only think, father, here’s Becky and Teddy Sleeper come all the way alone to bring you something nice. Of all things! Why, Becky, I thought you didn’t care for anything but getting into scrapes and out again. You’ve got a good heart, any way—ain’t she father?”
Father raised himself on his elbow, with a faint “Yes, indeed,” and fastened his eyes on the basket, somewhat more interested in the good things than in the good heart.