"Oh, it isn't necessary; she is only a common tramp," rejoined Angela.
"She looks as if she were in some sort of a stupor," said Ida.
"Then we had better drive on; she may have some dreadful disease. Ida, surely you are not going to get out. How foolish!"
"Well, it may be foolish; but I cannot drive on without finding out first what is the matter with the poor thing," said Ida, as she stepped out of the phaeton.
Strangely enough, the thought of Aunt Patty had come into her mind. Would Aunt Patty have driven by without making an effort to help? Of course not.
The woman raised her head as Ida drew near, and her heavy eyes opened slowly. She stared dully at Ida without speaking.
"ARE YOU ILL?" ASKED IDA.
"Are you ill?" asked Ida.
"I'm dyin', I guess," answered the poor creature in a thick voice. "I don't know what's the matter of me. I ache all over, 'n' my head's 'most burstin' open."