"Well," she said, pocketing her fifty cents with an air of great condescension, "I will just wait a bit and see."
It was after six o'clock, and Milly felt worried and perplexed as she sat with the children over their simple tea, and then went up to her mother's sick-room, in which she passed nearly all the night. Deborah followed her, and beckoning her to the window, said, in a grave whisper,
"Mildred, my child, who's that queer woman keeps coming here?"
Milly felt inclined to cry.
"Oh, Debby," she said, piteously, "don't bother me; it's just a woman who—has business with me."
Debby was silenced, but by no means satisfied. She determined to settle the question for herself.
Before the next week came around, every penny of Milly's money was spent, and, more than that, they were heavily in debt to the butcher and the grocer and the chemist. The best of port-wine was ordered for Mrs. Lee; the strongest beef tea; the most nourishing jellies; iron and quinine regularly. Poor Milly used to feel as if she was walking over fire on her way to and from the store, so harassed had she become, and she and Deborah bemoaned the state of affairs whenever they were alone.
"Something must be done, honey!" Deborah said, one wet Tuesday evening, when Milly stopped in the kitchen to dry her clothes and warm her feet before going up stairs. "I've next to nothing in the house, and your mother must have some more port."
Milly was disconsolately thinking the question over, when she was roused by Mrs. Robbins's well-known "rat-tat-tat" on the front door. She ran out, hastily admitting the peddler, who soon perceived the state of affairs by Milly's expression. The young girl tried to say, calmly, that she had not the money.
"Well," said Mrs. Robbins, "I'll hold off a day or two; but just you read the paper you signed, and you'll see you agree to pay the full amount if you miss a week—if the dress isn't fit to be took back."