"Yes."
"What's she doin'?"
"She is ironing."
"Yes; she takes in. Sabriny has it all to do. I can't do nothin'—this five year."
"May I come and see you again, Mrs. Rogers? I must go now."
"You may come if you like," was the answer. "I don't know what you should want to come for."
Matilda was afraid her fire of pine sticks would give out; and hurried across the lane again with her basket of clean things. The stove had fired up, to be sure; and Mrs. Eldridge was sitting crouched over it, with an evident sense of enjoyment that went to Matilda's heart. If the room now were but clean, she thought, and the other room; and the bed made, and Mrs. Eldridge herself. There was too much to think of; Matilda gave it up, and attended to the business in hand. The kettle boiled. She made the tea in the tea-cup; laid a herring on the stove; spread some bread and butter; and in a few minutes invited Mrs. Eldridge's attention to her supper spread on a chair. The old woman drank the tea as if it were the rarest of delicacies; Matilda filled up her cup again; and then she fell to work on the fish and bread and butter, tearing them to pieces with her fingers, and in great though silent appreciation. Meanwhile Matilda brought the cupboard to a little order; and then filling up Mrs. Eldridge's cup for the third time, carried back the kettle to Sabrina Rogers and begged the loan of an old broom.
"What do you want to do with it?"
"Mrs. Eldridge's room wants sweeping very much."
"Likely it does! Who's a going to sweep it, though, if I lend you my broom?"