ly want to make her a cup of tea."

"I hadn't heerd nothin' of her bein' sick. Be you a friend o' hern?"

"Yes."

"We've got sickness in _this_ house," the woman went on. "And
everythin's wantin' where there's sickness; and hard to get it. It's my
old mother. She lies in there"--nodding towards an inner room--"night
and day, and day and night; and she'd like a bit o' comfort now and
then as well as another; and 'tain't often as I kin give it to her.
Life's hard to them as hain't got nothin' to live on. I hadn't ought to
complain, and I don't complain; but sometimes it comes over me that
life's hard."

Here was another!

"What does she want?" Matilda asked. "Is she very sick?"

"She won't never be no better," her daughter answered; "and she lies
there and knows she won't never be no better; and she's all as full of
aches as she kin be, sometimes; and other times she's more easy like;
but she lies there and knows she can't never get up no more in this
world; and she wants 'most everythin'. I do what I kin."

"Do you think you can lend me your tea-kettle? I will be very much
obliged."

"Well, if you'll bring it back yourself--I 'spose I will. It's all the
kettle I've got."

She fetched it out of a receptacle behind the stove, brushed the soot
from its sides with a chicken's wing, and handed it to Matilda. It was
an iron tea-kettle, not very large to be sure, but very heavy to hold
at arm's length; and so Matilda was obliged to carry it, for fear of
smutching her frock. She begged a match too, and hastened back over the
street as well as she could. But Matilda's heart, though glad at the
comfort she was about to give, began to be wearily heavy on account of
the comfort she could not give; comfort that was lacking in so many
quarters where she could do nothing. She easily kindled her fire now;
filled the tea-kettle at the pump--this was very difficult, but without
more borrowing she could not help it--and at last got the kettle on,
and had the joy of hearing it begin to sing. The worst came now. For
that tea-cup and saucer and plate must be washed before they could be
used; and Matilda could not bear to touch them. She thought of taking
the unused cup at the back of the shelf; but conscience would not let
her. "You know those ought to be washed," said conscience; "and if you
do not do it, perhaps nobody else will." Matilda earnestly wished that
somebody else might. She had no bowl, either, to wash them in, and no