"I don't want no more readin'. But it has a good sound--a good sound."

"What would you like to have somebody do for you? not reading."

"There was folks as cared fur me," said the old woman. "There ain't
none no more. No more. There ain't no one as cares."

"But if there _was_ some one--what would you tell her to do for
you?--now, to-day?"

"Any one as cared would know," said Mrs. Eldridge. "There's 'most all
to do. 'Spect I'd have a cup o' tea for my supper--'spect I would."

"Don't you have tea? Won't you have it to-night?"

The feeble eye looked over at the little rusty stove.

"There ain't no fire," she said; "nor nothing to make fire; it's cold;
and there ain't nobody to go out and get it fur me--I can't go pick up
sticks no more. An' if I had the fire, there ain't no tea. There ain't
no one as cares."

"But what will you have then?" said Matilda. "What do you have for
supper?"

"Go and look," said Mrs. Eldridge, turning her head towards a corner
cupboard, the doors of which stood a little open. "If there's anything,
it's there; if it ain't all eat up."

Matilda hesitated; then thought she had better know the state of
things, since she had leave; and crossed to the cupboard door. It was a
problem with her how to open it; so long, long it was since anything
clean had touched the place; she made the end of her glove finger do
duty and pulled the cupboard leaves open.

She never forgot what she saw there, nor the story of lonely and
desolate life which it told. Two cups and saucers, one standing in a
back corner, unused and full of cobwebs, the other cracked, soiled,
grimy, and full of flies. Something had been in it; what, Matilda could
not examine. On the bare shelf lay a half loaf of bread, pretty dry,
with a knife alongside. A plate of broken meat, also full of flies, and
looking, Matilda thought, fit for the flies alone, was there; a cup
half full of salt; an empty vinegar cruet, an old shawl, ditto hood; a
pitcher with no water; an old muslin cap, half soiled; a faded bit of
ribband, and a morsel of cheese flanked by a bitten piece of
gingerbread. Matilda came back sick at heart.

"Where do you sleep, Mrs. Eldridge? and who makes your bed? Or can you
make it?"

"Sleep?" said the old woman. "Nobody cares. I sleep in yonder."

Matilda looked, doubted, finally crossed the room again and pushed a
little inwards the door Mrs. Eldridge had looked at. She came back
quickly. So close, so ill-smelling,