“Have you had any more callers?” asked Margaretta, eagerly.
“Yes, the Everests, and Brown-Gardners, and Mrs. Darley-James.”
“Mrs. Darley-James!”
“Yes, Mrs. Darley-James, that fastidious dame. I’ve read that when you get poor, your friends forsake you, but ours have overwhelmed us with attentions.”
“Grandma is an exceptional woman,” said Margaretta, proudly.
“And do you know every one of those women noticed the children. Mrs. Darley-James nearly fainted. I had to go to the door with her, as we have no well-trained maid, but only that stupid woman of the neighbourhood. ‘Why, the children all look ill,’ Mrs. Darley-James said.
“‘A good many of them are,’ I replied. ‘Two died in that yellow house last night.’
“She said, ‘Oh, horrible!’ and got into her carriage. Well, to come back to this day that I stood on the door-step talking to the children. They looked up at me, the dear little impudent things, and said, ‘We ain’t goin’ to move one step, missus, ’cause you gets the sun longer on your side of the street than we does.’
“What they said wasn’t remarkable, but I choked all up. To think of those pale-faced babies manœuvering to sit where they could catch the sun as he peeped shyly at them over the roofs of the tall houses. I felt as if I should like to have the demon of selfishness by the throat and shake him till I choked him. Then I flew to the city hall—”
“The city hall again?” murmured Margaretta.