“‘How’s your mother to-day, Sue?’
“‘She’s getting along slowly, Mrs. Binch.’
“‘Does the doctor say she is dangerous any?’
“‘The doctor don’t come any more.’
“‘Has he giv’ her up?’
“‘Yes; he says there is nothing to do but to let her get well.’
“‘O!—she’s so smart, is she?’
“‘No, ma’am,—she’s not smart at all: he says——’
“But Mrs. Binch had passed on, and was out of hearing; and the little brown head stood still at the window again, leaning now on one hand. It was a smooth-brushed, round little head, seen against the open window. By and by another stopped, a lady this time; a lady dressed in black, with a grave, sweet, delicate face.
“‘How’s your mother, Sue?’