"I don't know. I hain't seen him this mornin'--but it's safe to say he
ain't."

"But I thought he was well enough to be up an' dressed right along
now."

"He is WELL ENOUGH--or, rather he WAS." Susan snapped open another
pillow-case and hung it on the line with spiteful jabs of two
clothespins.

"Why, Susan, is he worse? You didn't say he was any worse. You said he
was about as usual."

"Well, so he is. That's about as usual. Look a-here, Mis' McGuire,"
flared Susan, turning with fierce suddenness, "wouldn't YOU be worse
if you wasn't allowed to do as much as lift your own hand to your own
head?"

"Why, Susan, what do you mean? What are you talkin' about?"

"I'm talkin' about Keith Burton an' Mis' Nettie Colebrook. I've GOT to
talk about 'em to somebody. I'm that full I shall sunburst if I don't.
She won't let him do a thing for himself--not a thing, that woman
won't!"

"But how can he do anything for himself, with his poor sightless
eyes?" demanded Mrs. McGuire. "I don't think I should complain, Susan
Betts, because that poor boy's got somebody at last to take proper
care of him."