“‘And it is in a pleasant place, father, where there are a great many kind people.’
“‘I hope there are,’ said the cobbler, who was thinking at the moment how Mr. Shipham had put him off, and Mr. Dill had dodged him, and Mr. Binch had fought every one of his moderate charges.
“‘Why, father!’ said Sue, ‘there’s Mrs. Lucy every day sends things to mother; and Mrs. Binch gave you the fish; and Mrs. Jackson came and washed ever so many times; and—and Mrs. Gelatin sent the pudding and other things for mother, you know.’
“‘Well, dear,’ said the cobbler,—‘yes,—it seems that woman-kind is more plenty here, at any rate, than man-kind.’
“‘Why, father?’ said Sue.
“‘I hope you’ll never know, dear,’ he answered. ‘It was a foolish speech of mine.’
“‘And I’m sure it’s a blessing, father, that we have so many things sent us for mother,—she has almost as much as she wants, and things we couldn’t get. Now, Mrs. Lucy’s soup,—you don’t know how nice it was. I tasted just the least drop in the spoon; and mother had enough of it for to-day and to-morrow. And then the doctor says she’ll get well by and by; and that will be a blessing.’
“It was a blessing so far off, that both the cobbler and his little daughter looked grave as they thought about it.
“‘And I’m well, father, and you’re well,’ said Sue, pleasantly.