ut, Mrs Jane?" asked Rhoda, laughing.

"Heyday! they're all a parcel together," answered Mrs Jane. "Nell and
her mother, and her grandmother before them. And Marcella, too, she's
no better. Go in, if you want a string of complaints. You can come out
when you've had plenty."

"How many complaints are plenty, Mrs Jane?"

"One," said Mrs Jane, marching off. "Plenty for me."

Rhoda lifted the latch, and walked in, Phoebe following her. She tapped
at the inner door.

"Oh, come in, whoever it is," said a querulous, plaintive voice. "Well,
Mrs Rhoda, I thought you would have been to see me before. A poor
lonely creature, that nobody cares for, and never has any comfort nor
pleasure! And who have you with you? I'm sure she's in a deep
consumption from the looks of her. Coltsfoot, my dear, and horehound,
with plenty of sugar, boiled together; and a little mallow won't hurt.
But they'll not do you much good, I should say; you're too far gone:
still, 'tis a duty to do all one can, and some strange things do happen:
like Betty Collins--the doctors all gave her up, and there she is,
walking about, as well as anybody. And so may you, my dear, though you
don't look like it. Still, you are young--there's no telling: and
coltsfoot is a very good thing, and makes wonderful cures. Oh, that
careless Jane, to leave me all alone, just when I wanted my pillows
shaking! And so inconsiderate of Nell to go home just to-day, of all
days, when she knew I was sure to be worse; I always am after a
fast-day. Fast-days don't suit me at all; they are very bad for sick
people. They make one's spirits so low, and are sure to give me the
vapours. Oh dear, that Jane!"

"What's the matter with that Jane?" demanded the bearer of the name,
stalking in, as Phoebe was trying to brace up her courage to the point
of offering to shake the pillows. "Want another dose of castor oil?
I've got it."

A faint shriek of deprecation was the answer.

"Oh dear! And you know how I hate it! Jane, do shake up my pillows.
They feel as if there were stones instead of flocks in them, or--"

"Nutmegs, no doubt," suggested Mrs Jane. "Shake them up? Oh yes, and
you too--do you both good."

"Oh, don't, Jane! Have you an orange for me?"

"Sit down, my dears," said Mrs Jane, parenthetically. "Can't afford
them, Marcella. Plenty of black currant tea. Better for you."

"I don't like it!" said Mrs Marcella, plaintively.

"Oranges are eightpence a