"We're used to sharing this together," said the girl simply.

"Nan sews in an up-town dressmaker's place," explained Mrs. Brady by and
by, when the wash was hung out in fearsome proximity to the weary horse's
heels, and the two had returned to the warm kitchen to clean up and get
supper. "Nan's your ma's sister, you know, older'n her by two year; and
Lizzie, that's her girl, she's about 's old 's you. She's got a good place
in the ten-cent store. Nan's husband died four years ago, and her and
me've been livin' together ever since. It'll be nice fer you and Lizzie to
be together. She'll make it lively fer you right away. Prob'ly she can get
you a place at the same store. She'll be here at half past six to-night.
This is her week to get out early."

The aunt came in first. She was a tall, thin woman with faded brown hair
and a faint resemblance to Elizabeth's mother. Her shoulders stooped
slightly, and her voice was nasal. Her mouth looked as if it was used to
holding pins in one corner and gossiping out of the other. She was one of
the kind who always get into a rocking-chair to sew if they can, and rock
as they sew. Nevertheless, she was skilful in her way, and commanded good
wages. She welcomed the new niece reluctantly, more excited over her
remarkable appearance among her relatives after so long a silence than
pleased, Elizabeth felt. But after she had satisfied her curiosity she was
kind, beginning to talk about Lizzie, and mentally compared this thin,
brown girl with rough hair and dowdy clothes to her own stylish daughter.
Then Lizzie burst in. They could hear her calling to a young man who had
walked home with her, even before she entered the house.

"It's just fierce out, ma!" she exclaimed. "Grandma, ain't supper ready
yet? I never was so hungry in all my life. I could eat a house afire."