“So will Dolly—if she will look at her now. See, Dolly, she’s looking at her children. And when she sees how nice the girls are to them, she is going to be grateful—far more grateful than for anything we did for her. Because, after all, it’s probably her fear for her children, and of what this will mean to them, that is her greatest trouble.”
Dinner was soon ready, and when it was prepared, Eleanor called the homeless family together and made them sit down.
“We haven’t so very much,” she said. “We intended to eat just this way, but we were going on a little way. Still, I think there’s plenty of everything, and there’s lots of milk for the children.”
“Why are you so good to us?” asked the woman, suddenly. It was her first admission that she appreciated what was being done, and Eleanor secretly hailed it as a prelude to real friendliness.
“Why, you don’t think anyone could see you in so much trouble and not stop to try to help you, do you?” she said.
“Ain’t noticed none of the neighbors comin’ here to help,” said the woman, sullenly.
“I think they’re simply forgetful,” said Eleanor. “And you know this fire was pretty bad. They had a great fight to save Cranford from burning up.”
“Is that so?” said the woman, showing a little interest in the news. “My land, I didn’t think the fire would get that far!”
“They were fighting night and day for most of three days,” said Eleanor. “And now they’re pretty tired, and I have an idea they’re making up for lost sleep and rest. But I’m sure you’ll find some of them driving out this way pretty soon to see how you are getting on.”
“Well, they won’t see much!” said the woman, with a despairing laugh. “We came back here, ’cause we thought some of the buildings might be saved. But there ain’t a thing left exceptin’ that one barn a little way over there. You can’t see it from here. It’s over the hill. We did save our cattle and a good many chickens and ducks. But all our crops is ruined—and how we are ever goin’ to get through the winter I declare I can’t tell!”