napkin to dry them. And here a dreadful thought suggested itself. Did
Mrs. Eldridge herself, too, do without washing? There were no towels to
be seen anywhere. Sick at heart, the little girl gathered up the soiled
pieces of crockery in her basket--the basket had a paper in it--and
went over the way again to Mrs. Rogers' cottage. As she went, it
crossed her mind, could Mrs. Rogers perhaps be the other one of those
two in Lilac Lane who needed to have the Bible read to them? Or were
there still others? And how many Christians there had need to be in the
world, to do all the work of it. Even in Shadywalk. And what earnest
Christians they had need to be.

"Back again a'ready?" said the woman, as she let her in. Matilda showed
what she had in her basket, and asked for something to wash her dishes
in. She got more than she asked for; Sabrina Rogers took them from her
to wash them herself.

"She has nobody to do anything for her," Matilda observed of the poor
old owner of the cup and saucer.

"She ain't able to do for herself," remarked Sabrina; "that's where the
difference is. The folks as has somebody to do su'thin' for them, is
lucky folks. I never see none o' that luck myself."

"But your mother has you," said Matilda, gently.

"I can't do much for her, either," said Sabrina. "Poor folks must take
life as they find it. And they find it hard."

"Can your mother read?"

"She's enough to do to lie still and bear it, without readin'," said
the daughter. "Folks as has to get their livin' has to do without
readin'."

"But would she like it?" Matilda asked.

"I wonder when these things _was_ washed afore," said the woman,
scrubbing at them. "Like it? You kin go in and ask her."

Matilda pushed open the inner door, and somewhat reluctantly went in.
It was decent, that room was; and this disabled old woman lay under a
patchwork quilt, on a bed that seemed comfortable. But the window was
shut, and the air was close. It was very disagreeable.

"How do you do to-day, Mrs. Rogers?" Matilda said, stepping nearer the
bed.

"Who's that?" was the question.

"Matilda Englefield."

"Who's 'Tilda Eggleford?"

"I live in the village," said Matilda. "Are you much sick?"

"Laws, I be!" said the poor woman. "It's like as if my bones was on
fire, some nights. Yes, I be sick. And I'll never be no better."

"Does anybody ever come to read the Bible to you?"

"Read the Bible?" the sick woman repeated. Her face looked dull, as