"She's a very poor old woman, Joanna; and she is obliged to keep her bed
always; there is something the matter with her. She lives with a
daughter of hers who takes care of her, I believe; but they haven't much
to live upon, and the daughter isn't smart. Mrs. Parsons hasn't anything
fit for her to eat, unless somebody sends it to her."

"What's the matter with her? ain't she going to get well?"

"No, never--she will always be obliged to lie on her bed as long as she
lives; and so, you see, Joanna, she hasn't appetite for coarse things."

"Humph!" said Joanna. "Custards won't give it to her. What does the
daughter live upon?"

"She does washing for people; but of course that don't give her much.
They are very poor, I know."

"Well, what would you like to take her, Miss Daisy?"

"Mother said you'd know."

"Well, I'll tell you what _I_ think--sweetmeats ain't good for such
folks. You wait till afternoon, and you shall have a pail of nice broth
and a bowl of arrowroot with wine and sugar in it; that'll hearten her
up. Will that do?"

"But I should like to take something to the other poor woman, too."

"How are you going?"