“Well, someone ought to understand!” broke from the girl. “I understand! But—” she did her best to make it a laugh—“eleven dollars is every cent I've got in the world!”
“Don't!” implored the woman, as the girl gave up trying to control the tears. “Now, don't you be botherin'. I didn't mean to make you feel so bad. My nephew says I ain't reasonable, and maybe I ain't.”
The girl raised her head. “But you are reasonable. I tell you, you are reasonable!”
“I must be going back,” said the woman, uncertainly. “I'm just making you feel bad, and it won't do no good. And then they may be stirred up about me. Emma—Emma's my nephew's wife—left me at the doctor's office 'cause she had some trading to do, and she was to come back there for me. And then, as I was sittin' there, the pinin' came over me so strong it seemed I just must get up and start! And”—-she smiled wanly—-“this was far as I got.”
“Come over and sit down by this table,” said the girl, impulsively, “and tell me a little about your home back in the mountains. Wouldn't you like to?”
The woman nodded gratefully. “Seems most like getting back to them to find someone that knows about them,” she said, after they had drawn their chairs up to the table and were sitting there side by side.
The girl put her rounded hand over on the thin, withered one. “Tell me about it,” she said again.
“Maybe it wouldn't be much interesting to you, my dear. It's just a common life—mine is. You see, William and I—William was my husband—we went to Georgetown before it really was any town at all. Years and years before the railroad went through, we was there. Was you ever there?” she asked wistfully.
“Oh, very often,” replied the girl. “I love every inch of that country!”
A tear stole down the woman's face. “It's most like being home to find someone that knows about it,” she whispered.