home wid Carl and Jennie." Then,
turning to her father, she said, "Gran'pop, will ye and Jennie go into
the kitchen for a while? I've some private business wid Mr. Babcock."

When they were gone her whole manner changed. She buried her face for a
moment in the pillow, covering her cheek with her hands; then, turning
to Babcock, she said:--

"Now, me friend, will ye lock the door?"

For some minutes she looked out of the window, through the curtains and
nasturtiums, then, in a low, broken voice, she said:

"I'm in great trouble. Will ye help me?"

"Help you, Tom? You know I will, and with anything I've got. What is
it!" he said earnestly, regaining his chair and drawing it closer.

"Has no one iver told ye about me Tom?" she asked, looking at him from
under her eyebrows.

"No; except that he was hurt or--or--out of his mind, maybe, and you
couldn't bring him home."

"An' ye have heared nothin' more?"

"No," said Babcock, wondering at her anxious manner.

"Ye know that since he went away I've done the work meself, standin' out
as he would have done in the cold an' wet an' workin' for the children
wid nobody to help me but these two hands."

Babcock nodded. He knew how true it was.

"Ye've wondered many a time, maybe, that I niver brought him home an'
had him round wid me other poor cripple, Patsy--them two togither." Her
voice fell almost to a whisper.

"Or ye thought, maybe, it was mean and cruel in me that I kep' him a
burden on the State, when I was able to care for him meself. Well, ye'll
think so no more."

Babcock began to see now why he had been sent for. His heart went out to
her all the more.

"Tom, is your husband dead?" he asked, with a quiver in his voice.

She never took her eyes from his face. Few people were ever tender
with her; they never seemed to think she needed it. She read this man's
sincerity and sympathy in his eyes; then she answered slowly:--

"He is, Mr. Babcock."

"When did he die! Was it last night, Tom?"

"Listen to me fust, an' then I'll tell ye. Ye must know that when me
Tom was hurted, seven years ago, we had a small place, an' only three
horses, and them warn't paid for; an' we had the haulin' at the brewery,
an' that was about all we did have. When Tom had been sick a month--it
was the time the bucket fell an' broke his rib--the new contract at the
brewery was let for the year, an' Schwartz give it to us, a-thinkin'
that Tom'd be round ag'in, an' niver carin', so