'I have given up the rooms above,' was Mrs. Darby's reply.
'But—when the children were ill—was it a time to give up rooms?' debated Mary.
'No,' replied Mrs. Darby, who spoke as if she were heart-broken, in a sad, subdued tone, the very reverse of Mesdames Dunn and Cheek. 'But how could we keep on the top rooms when we were unable to get together the rent, to pay for them? I spoke to the landlord, and he is letting the back rent stand a bit, not to sell us up; and I gave up to him the two top rooms; and we all sleep in here together.'
'I wish the men would go back to work!' said Mary, with a sigh.
'Mary my heart's just failing within me,' said Mrs. Darby, her tone a sort of wail. 'Here's winter coming on, and all of them out of work. If it were not for my daughter, who is in service, and brings us her wages as she gets them, I believe we should just have starved. I must get medicine, for the children, though we go without bread.'
'It is not medicine they want: it is nourishment,' said Mary.
'It is both. Nourishment would have done when they were first ailing, but now that it has turned to low fever, they must have medicine, or it will grow into typhus. It's bark they have to take, and it costs——'
'Mother! mother!' struck up a plaintive voice, that of the eldest of the children lying there, 'I want more of that nice drink!'