"Baby eat now," she cried with a stamp of her small foot.

Lydia laughed. She ran up the steps, took the baby's hand and led her
through the entry into a square little room, evidently the parlor of
the home. It was dusty and disorderly. The center-table of fine old
mahogany was littered with pipes and newspapers. A patent rocker was
doing duty as a clothes rack for hats and coats. A mahogany desk was
almost indistinguishable under a clutter of doll's furniture. The
sunset glow pouring through the window disclosed rolls of dust on the
faded red Brussels carpet.

Lydia disgorged the contents of her blouse upon the desk, then followed
little Patience into the next room. This was larger than the first and
was evidently the dining-room and sitting-room. A huge old mahogany
table and sideboard, ill kept and dusty, filled the bow window end of
the room. Opposite the sideboard was a couch, draped with a red and
green chenille spread. The floor was covered with oil cloth.

A short, stout old woman was setting the table. She had iron gray
hair. Her face was a broad wreath of wrinkles, surrounding
bespectacled black eyes and a thin mouth that never quite concealed a
very white and handsome set of false teeth.

"See! Liz! See!" cried little Patience, pattering up to the old woman
with the tugging balloon.

"Ain't that grand!" said Lizzie. "Where'd you git the money, Lydia?
Baby's milk's in the tin cup on the kitchen table. Your father's home.
You'd better fry the steak. He complains so about it when I do it."