Mrs. Warden was afraid. “Your husband?” she inquired.
“Yes,” was the reply. He did not go back to work to-day because he had the toothache.
Mrs. Warden had had toothache. She knew how painful it was. She at once said something sympathetic. The man murmured something and fell back upon the straw. At this moment Mrs. Warden discovered another person whom she had not seen before—a young girl, who sat in the opposite comer by the stove. She stared at the elegant lady a moment, and then turned her back upon her. Mrs. Warden thought the young girl had some sort of work in her lap which she wished to conceal. Perhaps it was an old dress which she was trying to mend.
“Why does the boy lie there on the floor?” she inquired.
“He is lame,” answered the mother. Now followed a pitiful tale and a description of what had happened after the scarlet fever.
“You should buy him a wheeled chair,” Mrs. Warden was on the point of remarking, when it occurred to her it would be better for her to buy it. It is not wise to give poor people money, she remembered. But she would give the poor woman something, of course. She felt in her pocket for her purse. It was not there. She must have left it in the trap. Just as she was about to explain to the poor woman what had happened, a well dressed man opened the door and entered. His face was round and of a peculiar dry pallor.
