little you know."

"But, Mis' Gray," faltered poor little Rosa, "mother was coughing awful,
and I didn't hear you."

"Yes, your ma ag'in. I don't know what you'll have fer an excuse when
she's gone, or what'll become of you either. I know one thing, though; I
won't have you. But it'd be a heap sight better fer you if I would, and
a real blessin', too."

"Why, where's mother going, Mis' Gray?" asked Rosa with wide-open and
frightened eyes.

"There, there, Sary, don't talk to the child so! Never mind, Rosa dear,
Sary don't mean it. Sary's a good woman, yes, a very good woman."

"I do too mean it, father, and I jest want you to keep still. You always
take her part. Yes, I am a good woman, or I'd never kep' you after poor
Tom got killed. I have to sew my finger ends off to git us enough to eat
and to pay the rent. I always did have bad luck from the day I married
Tom Gray. He would insist on keepin' you, and you wuz sick that summer
he couldn't git no work. He'd walk all day a-tryin' to find somethin' to
do, then set up all night with you, though I told him it wuzn't
necessary. I washed and I sewed and I done everything, but our little
home had to go. I thought then, and I think now, that we could a-kep'
it, if it hadn't been fer you. If Tom could git hold of a cent at all,
it would go fer medicine, or somethin' fer you to eat. After you got
well, he found a place to work, and wuz a-tryin' to git back the home,
when he went and got killed, a-tryin' to keep a poor, good-fer-nothin'
beggar from bein' run over by the streetcar. All he left me wuz you to
look after, and you ain't never had a bit of sense, since the day he
wuz brought home to me all torn and bleedin'. There ain't many that's
had as much to put up with as I have. I guess most daughters-in-law
would jest have told you to leave, but no, I've been a-keepin' you fer
the last five years, and no tellin' how much longer you'll live! And you
didn't mind me this mornin', and I sprained my ankle a-goin'--"

"Grandpa," broke in Rosa, heedless of Mrs. Gray's irascible tongue,
"what does she mean about mother going away?"

"Why, I don't know, child; I ain't heard no talk about her leavin', but
then I git things so mixed up since Tom died."

"Rosa Browning, I didn't call you in here to ask foolish questions. I
want you to deliver this package, and quick, too. If you hadn't talked
so much, you could be well on your way by this time. It goes to that
lady over on Lake A