"Then you better wait until another day to wash; mamma would be willing, I'm sure," Stella said kindly.
"No, miss, I'll keep right on washin', but I thank you all the same for your kindness. I'll be just as tired to-morrow, an' the day after too. A mother can't have much rest with a sick child to tend."
"Is your little girl sick, ma'am?"
"She's bin sick these two weeks with an awful cold; she's that weak that she can't hardly walk about the room, an' she's dreadful wakeful nights."
"Who stays with her when you go out to wash?"
"No one but her little brother Tim; an' he's only seven years old."
"And you go out washing every day, do you not?"
"No, miss; if I did I'd have more money than I've got. This is my only wash-place; the rest of the week I help an old fruit-woman down in the market, but I don't get much pay."
"Do you earn enough to support your children?"
"Yes, miss; but my husband's long sickness and death brought some heavy bills for me to pay. I can't get any extras for my little sick girl, though she's that lonesome when I'm gone that Tim says she cries most of the time."