She sat down deliberately, drawing a long breath, but without taking her eyes from Everychild. "Just an idler," she said, "like all the rest of the young ones. I don't know what's the matter with them these days—children. When I was young I had to work. I expected nothing less. And I tell mine what was good enough for me is good enough for them."
She made this statement as if she hadn't left a single thing to be said.
It seemed rather obscure to Everychild. He tried to think of a more agreeable subject. He looked the Old Woman's house over, up and down. "It's rather a funny house, isn't it?" he remarked.
The Old Woman's manner became more sullen than ever. She seized upon a ladle and began stirring the steaming pot. "It does very well," she declared. "Houses are funny or otherwise according to what goes on in them. When you've got your hands full of children who don't want to work you can't say that your house is exactly funny. Its being an old shoe—if that's what you mean … that's a matter of taste. I prefer it, for my part. I'd never have been able to settle down anywhere else. You see, I had to be on my feet mostly all the time from little on, and now it comes natural, being in a shoe. I can imagine I'm on the go, even if I never get out from one week's end to another."
She lifted the ladle from the pot. She pressed one hand to her bosom and with the other lifted the ladle to her lips, testing the stew. There was a thoughtful look in her eyes. Then she continued:
"As for living in a shoe … there's plenty of females that live in two. Always on the go, they're that restless. I tell my undergrowth it's no more disgrace to live in one shoe than in two, so long as you've got one that's big enough."
[Illustration: "As for living in a shoe … there's plenty of females that live in two.">[
She seemed so pleased with this remark that she had to stir the pot vigorously, as a relief to her emotions.