"Why, I don't know, child; I ain't heard no talk about her leavin', but
then I git things so mixed up since Tom died."

"Rosa Browning, I didn't call you in here to ask foolish questions. I
want you to deliver this package, and quick, too. If you hadn't talked
so much, you could be well on your way by this time. It goes to that
lady over on Lake Avenue, where I sent you once before."

"Oh, where I heard the beautiful music?"

"Yes, but don't you loiter on your way to listen to no music! Fine music
ain't for the likes of us here on Burton street. It's a shame fer me to
have to pay your carfare, but I 'spose you can't carry that big package
so far. If you'd spend a little more time a-workin', and a little less
a-lookin' after your ma, you'd have more strength, I won't have it said
that I git work done fer nothin', so I'll give you ten cents besides.
You git a piece of beefsteak with it, and I'll broil it fer your ma's
supper. You couldn't fix it fit to eat, nohow. I hope to goodness she
won't cough all night and keep me awake."

"Oh, thank you, Mis' Gray, you are so kind," delightedly exclaimed Rosa,
her wan little face lighting up with genuine pleasure at the thought
that mother was going to have something good for supper.

"Now do be gone, and don't talk no more. You're enough to set me crazy,
you and father."

"I'm off now, Mis' Gray. Goodby, grandpa dear," she affectionately said,
kissing the old man's withered cheek, for these two children of the
tenement, the one eight and the other eighty, were the best of friends.