"I think I wouldn't 'a' minded so much," she said, wistfully, "ef
they hadn't 'a' sent the cramberries, too!"

For ten days the basket of provisions and the extra money made by
Jim's night work and Mrs. Wiggs's washing supplied the demands of
the family; but by the end of January the clouds had gathered
thicker than before.

Mrs. Wiggs's heart was heavy, one night, as she tramped home through
the snow after a hard day's work. The rent was due, the coal was
out, and only a few potatoes were left in the barrel. But these were
mere shadow troubles, compared to Jim's illness; he had been too
sick to go to the factory that morning, and she dared not think what
changes the day may have brought. As she lifted the latch of her
rickety door the sobbing of a child greeted her; it was little
Europena, crying for food. For three days there had been no bread in
the house, and a scanty supply of potatoes and beans had been their
only nourishment.

Mrs. Wiggs hastened to where Jim lay on a cot in the corner; his
cheeks were flushed, and his thin, nervous fingers picked at the old
shawl that covered him.

"Jim," she said, kneeling beside him and pressing his hot hand to
her cheek, "Jim, darling lemme go fer the doctor. You're worser
than you was this mornin', an'--an'--I'm so skeered!" Her voice
broke in a sob.

Jim tried to put his arm around her, but something hurt him in his
chest when he moved, so he patted her hand instead.