"And it's comin' in, Mis' Grahame—I'd say like a house afire, if 'twa'n't that 'twas wet. Dreepin' all down the chimbley, and runnin' over the floor in streams. I stepped into a pool o' water with my bar' feet, gittin' out o' bed; likely I caught my death, but it's no great matter. Ah! Mis' Grahame, I've seen trouble all my life. Mr. Aytoun, he was like a father to me. He wouldn't never ha' let me go bar'foot in water if he'd ben alive. I've ben a hard-workin' woman all my life, and he knowed it. I hope your own health is good, dear?"
"What can I do for you, Mrs. Lankton?" asked Mrs. Grahame, kindly, as a moment's pause gave her a chance to get in a word. "Does the roof need shingling?"
"Mr. Aytoun was goin' to have it shingled for me last Janooary," said Mrs. Lankton, with a sigh that was almost a groan; "and he was called on to die in Febooary. Jest afore he passed away, he was tryin' dretful hard to say somethin', and I ain't no manner o' doubt myself but what 'twas 'Shingle!' He had it on his mind; they needn't tell me. But nobody seemed to feel a call after he was gone. Ah, dear me! You don't know nothin' about it, Mis' Grahame. You ain't never stepped bar'foot out o' your bed into a pool o' water, and you all doubled up with neurology in your j'ints. Ah, well, 'twon't be long now that I shall trouble anybody."
"Which is your house, Mrs. Lankton?" asked Mrs. Grahame. "I will try to have something done about the roof at once."
"I know!" said Hildegarde, quickly. "It is a brown cottage with a green door."
"See how she knows!" exclaimed Mrs. Lankton, with a sad smile. "Ain't that thoughtful? Ah! she'll be a comfit to you, Mis' Grahame, if you've luck to raise her, but there's no knowin'. Don't you set your heart on it, that's all. Ah! I know what trouble is."
"Don't you think I am 'raised' already, Mrs. Lankton?" Hilda asked, smiling down on the weazened face that did not reach to her shoulder.
"So fur ye be, dear!" replied the widow, with a doleful shake of the head. "So fur ye be, but there's no knowin'. My Phrony was jest like you, hearty and stout, and she's gone. Ah! dear me! She had a store tooth, where she knocked out one of hers, slidin', and she swallered it one night, and she never got over it. Lodged on her liver, the doctor said. He went down and tried to fetch it up, but 'twa'n't no use. She was fleshy, same as you be. Yes, gals is hard to raise."
At this, Hildegarde retreated suddenly into the parlour, and Mrs. Grahame, in a voice which shook a little, expressed proper regret and sympathy, and repeated that she would have the roof attended to.
"And now," she added, "go into the kitchen, and auntie shall give you a cup of hot tea. You must dry your feet, too, before you go out again."