haustion. Also, he missed his old friend keenly and could not enter into the light-hearted life about him.
Presently two women entered. Porgy saw that they were Robbins' widow, and her sister, who now shared her room. He had been awaiting their coming eagerly, as they had left in the early afternoon to carry bed-clothing and food to the jail for Peter.
"How yuh fin' um, Sister?" he hailed.
The younger woman paused, standing in the shadow, and the widow lowered herself to a seat beside Porgy. She had put her grief aside, and gone resolutely about her task of earning a living for the three children.
"I can't puzzle dis t'ing out," she said after a while. "De old man ain't done nuttin', an' dey done gots um lock up like a chicken t'ief. Dey say dey gots tuh keep um till dat nigger Crown get ketch; an, Gawd knows when dat debble ob a t'ing goin' tuh happen."
"It sho pay nigger tuh go blin' in dis world," contributed the young woman. "Porgy; ain't gots much leg, but he sho got sense."
After a moment of reflection, Porgy replied: "Sense do berry well; but he can't lift no weight."
