“‘That’s all the money we have, ma’am.’
“‘And what have you in the house besides? tell me, dear. We are all only stewards of what God gives us; and what you want, perhaps, I can supply.’
“Sue hesitated again.
“‘We haven’t anything, Mrs. Lucy, but a little Indian meal. Roswald is going to buy me some more.’
“‘Are your father’s affairs in so bad a condition, my child?’
“‘He can’t get work, ma’am; if he could, there would be no trouble. And what he does he can’t always get paid for.’
“‘And how long has this been the case, dear?’
“‘A long time,’ said Sue, her tears starting again,—‘ever since a good while before mother fell sick;—a good while before;—and then that made it worse.’
“Mrs. Lucy looked at Sue a minute, and then stooped forward and kissed the little meek forehead that was raised to her; and without another word quitted the house.
“Sue, with a very much brightened face, set about getting her porridge ready; evidently enjoying the fire that had been made for her. She set on her skillet, and stirred in her meal; and when it was bubbling up properly, Sue turned her back to the fire and stood looking and meditating about something. Presently away she went, as if she had made up her mind. There was soon a great scraping and shuffling in the back room, and then in came Sue, pulling after her with much ado a big empty wooden chest, big enough to give her some trouble. With an air of business she dragged it into the middle of the room, where it was established solid and square, after the fashion of a table. Sue next dusted it carefully, and after it the counter and chairs, and mantel-shelf; the floor was clean swept always; and Sue herself, though in a faded calico, was as nice in her ways as her friend Roswald. Never was her little brown head anything but smooth-brushed; her frock clean; her hands and face as fair and pure as Nature had meant them to be. Roswald looked as if soil could not stick to him.