Marjorie followed her through a large room with wooden beams across the ceiling, and entered an inner room, larger still.
"What a large house you have, Mrs. Hotchkiss!"
"Too large!" groaned the old woman. "It used to be a farm."
"A farm here!" exclaimed Marjorie.
"Yes, long ago, in the old time when they hadn't found the coal; it was all country here then."
"It looks like a very old house," said Marjorie, as she noticed the overhanging chimney-piece with its long, narrow shelf, on which stood a china tea-pot and various other treasures. On either side of it was a deep recess or chimney corner, in which were curious, ancient cupboards, only about two feet in height, and having dark oaken doors. Opening out of this large kitchen was a stone flight of steps, leading down to an underground dairy, with three wide shelves one above another. These, in the olden time, were kept spotlessly clean, and were covered with large flat bowls of milk and cream; but now they were thickly coated with dirt, and were piled with all manner of rubbish.
The old woman could not talk for some time, for the effort of going to the door had brought on a severe fit of coughing, so, whilst she recovered her breath, Marjorie had plenty of time to look round the room. It was frightfully untidy and dirty, but that did not surprise her, for old Mrs. Hotchkiss was too ill to do more than creep out of bed and come downstairs to the fire, where she sat in an old armchair with her feet on the fender.
"Have you been ill long?" she asked, when the old woman was able to speak.
"Ever since Carrie went away. Not so bad as this, though. I'm getting worse every day."
"May I come and see you sometimes?"