“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!”
“Have you a husband? And, by the way, hadn’t you better tell me your name!” said Eleanor.
“My husband’s dead—been dead nearly two years,” said the woman. “I’m Sarah Pratt. This here’s my husband’s sister, Ann.”
“Well, Mrs. Pratt, we’ll have to see if we can’t think of some way of making up for all this loss,” said Eleanor, after she had told the woman her own name, and introduced the girls of the Camp Fire. “Why—just a minute, now! You have cows, haven’t you! Plenty of them? Do they give good milk!”
“Best there is,” said the woman. “My husband, he was a crank for buyin’ fine cattle. I used to tell him he was wastin’ his money, but he would do it. Same way with the chickens.”