"Does he?" murmured 'Tilda Jane; then she added, unwillingly, "I must be going."
"Delay youself yet a leetle," urged the woman, and her pitying eyes ran over the girl's drooping figure. "The children go to make corn hot. Marie—" and a stream of foreign syllables trickled and gurgled from her lips, delighting and fascinating her caller.
A little maid danced from the fireplace to one of the tiny pigeon-hole rooms opening from the large one, and presently came back with a bag of corn and a popper.
"And a glass of milk for mademoiselle," said the woman to another child.
'Tilda Jane was presently sipping her milk, eating a piece of dark brown bread, and gazing dreamily at the fire. Why could she not linger in this pleasant home.
"You know Mr. Dillson?" she said, rousing herself with an effort, and turning to her hostess.
"But yes—we have lived nex' him for so many yeahs."
"Do you think I can keep house for him?" asked 'Tilda Jane, wistfully.
