sed through the shabby little living room to the
oven-like bedroom which opened off it, but no one was about. She stood
for a moment shuddering at the wretchedness of the room.

Going back to the kitchen she found Sim about beginning on his dinner;
little Pet was with him, the rest of the children were at the
schoolhouse.

"Where is she?"

"I d' know. Out in the garden I expect. She don't eat with me now. I
never see her. She don't come near _me_. I aint seen her since
Saturday."

Lily was shocked inexpressibly and began to see clearer the magnitude
of the task she had set herself to do. But it must be done; she felt
that a tragedy was not far off. It must be averted.

"Mr. Burns, what have you done? What _have_ you done?" she asked in
terror and horror.

"Don't lay it all to _me_! She hain't done nawthin' but complain f'r
ten years. I couldn't do nothin' to suit her. She was always naggin'
me."

"I don't think Lucretia Burns would nag anybody. I don't say you're
_all_ to blame, but I'm afraid you haven't acknowledged you were any
to blame. I'm afraid you've not been patient with her. I'm going out
to bring her in. If she comes will you say you were _part_ to blame?
You needn't beg her pardon, just say you'll try to be better. Will you
do it? Think how much she has done for you! Will you?"

He remained silent, and looked discouragingly rude. His sweaty, dirty
shirt was open at the neck, his arms were bare, his scraggly teeth
were yellow with tobacco, and his uncombed hair lay tumbled about on
his high, narrow head. His clumsy, unsteady hands played with the
dishes on the table. His pride was struggling with his sense of
justice; he knew he ought to consent, and yet it was so hard to
acknowledge himself to blame. The girl went on in a voice piercingly
sweet, trembling with pity and pleading.

"What word can I carry to her from you? I'm going to go and see her.
If I could take a word from _you_, I know she would come back to the
table. Shall I tell her you feel to blame?"

The answer was a long time coming; at last the man nodded an assent,
the sweat pouring from his purple face. She had set him thinking, her
victory was sure.

Lily almost ran out into the garden and to the strawberry patch, where
she found Lucretia in her familiar, colorless, shapeless dress,
picking berries in the hot sun, the mosquitoes biting her neck and
hands.

"Poor, pathetic, dumb sufferer," the girl thought as she ran up to
her.