fleecy
knitting.

She looked up at Helen with a little, bird-like motion--her head a bit on
one side and her glance quizzical. This, it proved, was typical of Mary
Boyle.

"Deary, deary me!" she said. "You're a _new_ girl. And what do you want
Mary to do for you?"

"I--I thought I'd come and make you a little call," said Helen, timidly.

This wasn't at all as she expected to find the shut-in! Instead of gloom,
and tears, and the weakness of age, here were displayed all the opposite
emotions and qualities. The woman who was forgotten did not appear to be
an object of pity at all. She merely seemed out of step with the times.

"I'm sure you're very welcome, deary," said the old nurse. "Draw up the
little rocker yonder. I always keep it for young company," and Mary Boyle,
who had had no young company up here for ten or a dozen years, spoke as
though the appearance of a youthful face and form was of daily
occurrence.

"You see," spoke Helen, more confidently, "we are neighbors on this top
floor."

"Neighbors; air we?"

"I live up here, too. The family have tucked me away out of sight."

"Hush!" said the little old woman. "We shouldn't criticise our bethers.
No, no! And this is a very cheerful par-r-rt of the house, so it is."

"But it must be awful," exclaimed Helen, "to have to stay in it all the
time!"

"I don't have to stay in it all the time," replied the nurse, quickly.

"No, ma'am. I hear you in the night going downstairs and walking in the
corridor," Helen said, softly.

The wrinkled old face blushed very prettily, and Mary Boyle looked at her
visitor doubtfully.

"Sure, 'tis such a comfort for an old body like me," she said, at last,
"to make believe."

"Make believe?" cried Helen, with a smile. "Why, _I'm_ not old, and I love
to make believe."

"Ah, yis! But there is a differ bechune the make-believes of the young and
the make-believes of the old. _You_ are playin' you're grown up, or
dramin' of what's comin' to you in th' future--sure, I know! I've had them
drames, too, in me day.

"But with old folks 'tis different. We do be har-r-rking back instead of
lookin' for'ard. And with me, it's thinkin' of the babies I've held in me
ar-r-rms, and rocked on me knee, and walked the flure wid when they was
ailin'--An' sure the babies of _this_ house was always ailin', poor little
things."

"They were a great trouble to you, then?" asked Helen, softly.

"Trouble, is it?" cried Mary Boyle, her eyes s