Miss Wilcox received a definite and most disconcerting shock. She had come prepared as conscious Virtue—and her logical opponent, conscious Vice, failed her! The notorious Tillie Shields did not look in the least notorious; she looked like an ignorant, dull, good-hearted woman, old and alone, cheaply pathetic with her paint and her terrific trade simper. It was with reluctance and difficulty that Miss Martha began to state her errand, but before she was halfway through, the other understood.
“I s’pose Pete Maguire’s been talking,” she said with a flash of resentful conviction. “Anyhow, I had a hunch I’d get in bad, right when I was settin’ there at the ’phone. I don’t care! I’m glad I done it. I’d done it, even ’f I’d known for certain!”
“I’m sorry I have to ask you to—to move,” Miss Martha began again, with miserable diffidence. “But I—I——”
“Oh, it’s all right,” said Tillie Shields, submissively. “I’ll find some other place to go. I always find a place, for a while, anyhow.” Obviously she spoke in no intention of enlisting sympathy; it was a mere statement of fact. Yet Miss Martha was remotely perturbed; and now, to her dismay, she saw the other’s chin quiver and two tears tracking down the paint.
“I—I liked it awful well here. Them birds——” She swallowed hard, bringing her features under control with an effort. “Ever’thing’s been took good care of. If it hadn’t been for next door——” She began to talk impetuously; it was a childishly incoherent, confident outpouring. “Miss Wilcox, you know how they do! Miss Wilcox, I can’t see how folks can do that way! That rabbit had a great sore on its side! And Doctor Gowdy’s a preacher!” Her voice rose in rebellious bewilderment. “He—why, he talks beautiful in church—I’ve heard him——”
So had Miss Martha. Fragments of the doctor’s noble and touching utterances on the text: “Inasmuch as ye do it unto the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” inconveniently returned to her.
“I can’t see——” Mrs. Shields reiterated helplessly. And neither could Martha Wilcox. The puzzle was too much for her. Nobody, not even the notorious Tillie Shields, had intentionally done any wrong, yet the cumulative result of all their acts seemed to be heartbreakingly wrong, somehow; she herself, were it not for needing the income, could have let Mrs. Shields live there for nothing—but she could not let her live there for eighty-five dollars a month!
“I’m so sorry——!” was all that she could say.