"Poor Drusilla!" said a sweet-voiced little woman. "I hope some
one's found her. It's awful to have no one in all the world."

"How long's Drusilla been here?"

"Let me see"--and an old lady put down her sewing. "I been here
seven years, I was here not quite two years when Drusilla come. She's
been the linen woman ever since."

"Yes," said a woman who showed signs of having seen better days. Her
clothes still had a look of by-gone elegance and her wrinkled hands
were still dainty and beautifully kept. "Drusilla's our only
_charity_ inmate."

The stout old lady in the corner emitted a sound between a snort and
a groan.

"Charity inmate! What are we all but charity inmates!"

The first old lady drew herself up stiffly.

"You may speak for yourself, Mis' Graham, but _I_ am no charity
inmate."

"You're just as much of one as I am."

"What do you mean? I pay each year a hundred and twenty dollars, and
I paid when I entered an entrance fee of a hundred dollars."

"So'd we all; but still this is an old ladies' charitable home."