"That has a good sound," was the old woman's comment, uttered presently. "But I'm old now, and I can't do nothing; and there ain't nobody to take care o' me. There ain't."
Matilda glanced over the desolate room. It was dusty, dirty, neglected, and poverty stricken. What if she had been sent to "take care" of Mrs. Eldridge? The thought was exceedingly disagreeable; but once come, she could not get rid of it.
"What do you want, Mrs. Eldridge?" she asked at length.
"I don't want no more readin'. But it has a good sound—a good sound."
"What would you like to have somebody do for you? not reading."
"There was folks as cared fur me," said the old woman. "There ain't none no more. No more. There ain't no one as cares."
"But if there was some one—what would you tell her to do for you?—now, to-day?"
"Any one as cared would know," said Mrs. Eldridge. "There's 'most all to do. 'Spect I'd have a cup o' tea for my supper—'spect I would."
"Don't you have tea? Won't you have it to-night?"
The feeble eye looked over at the little rusty stove.