"That was Thursday," said Sarah. "No; I was too bad Thursday. I didn't go out."
So she staid at home to nurse her cold, in that cellar room with the mud floor. What sort of comfort could be had there? or what good of nursing? Matilda did not wonder that the street corner was quite as pleasant and nearly as profitable. And the thought of Sarah's gentle pale face as she said those words so went home to her heart, that she was crying half the way home; tears of sorrow and sympathy running down her face, as fast as she wiped them away.
That same evening, at tea-time, Norton asked if she had made up her list of plants for the greenhouse? Matilda said no.
"We shall want them, now, Pink. By Wednesday I shall have the staging ready; and the sooner we get it filled the better."
"O but, dear Norton," said Matilda, "I am very sorry to disappoint you; but I cannot take the money."
"Can't take what money?"
"The money to buy those plants. I would like them; but I cannot."
"But you were making your list," said Norton.
"No, I wasn't. I was only thinking what I would like to have."
"And you are not going to come into the greenhouse at all?"