slippers readjusted and umbrella hoisted was mincing along,
courtesying to every one she met, and asking them how they did--"Come
down this street; I want to see my old home."

Sal readily complied, saying as they drew near the low brown house, in
which a strange family were now living, "There is nothing very elegant
in the architecture of this dwelling."

Mary made no reply. With her head resting upon the garden fence, and
one hand clasped around a shrub which Franky had set out, she was
sobbing as though her heart would break. Very gently Sal laid her hand
on Mary's shoulder, and led her away, saying, "What would I not have
given for such a command of tears when Willie's father died. But I
could not weep; and my tears all turned to burning coals, which set my
brain on fire."

The next time Mary raised her head they were opposite Mrs. Bender's,
where Sal declared it her intention to stop. As they were passing up
to the side door, Billy, who heard their footsteps, came out, and
shaking hands with Mary, and trying hard to keep from laughing at the
wonderful courtesy, which Sal Furbush made him. On entering the house
they found Mrs. Bender flat on her back, the pillow pulled out from
under her head, and the bed clothes tucked closely up under her chin.

"Mother was so sick I couldn't come," said Billy to Mary, while Sal,
walking up to the bedside, asked, "Is your sickness unto death, my
good woman?"

"Oh, I am afeard not," was the feeble response. "Folks with my
difficulty suffer for years."