ph, brought a slice of custard pie from
the cupboard and put it by her sister's plate.

"You do like that, don't you? Miss Mellins sent it down to me this
morning. She had her aunt from Brooklyn to dinner. Ain't it funny it
just so happened?"

"I ain't hungry," said Evelina, rising to approach the table.

She sat down in her usual place, looked about her with the same
wondering stare, and then, as of old, poured herself out the first cup
of tea.

"Where's the what-not gone to?" she suddenly asked.

Ann Eliza set down the teapot and rose to get a spoon from the cupboard.
With her back to the room she said: "The what-not? Why, you see, dearie,
living here all alone by myself it only made one more thing to dust; so
I sold it."

Evelina's eyes were still travelling about the familiar room. Though
it was against all the traditions of the Bunner family to sell any
household possession, she showed no surprise at her sister's answer.

"And the clock? The clock's gone too."

"Oh, I gave that away--I gave it to Mrs. Hawkins. She's kep' awake so
nights with that last baby."

"I wish you'd never bought it," said Evelina harshly.

Ann Eliza's heart grew faint with fear. Without answering, she crossed
over to her sister's seat and poured her out a second cup of tea. Then
another thought struck her, and she went back to the cupboard and took
out the cordial. In Evelina's absence considerable draughts had been
drawn from it by invalid neighbours; but a glassful of the precious
liquid still remained.

"Here, drink this right off--it'll warm you up quicker than anything,"
Ann Eliza said.

Evelina obeyed, and a slight spark of colour came into her cheeks.
She turned to the custard pie and began to eat with a silent voracity
distressing to watch. She did not even look to see what was left for Ann
Eliza.

"I ain't hungry," she said at last as she laid down her fork. "I'm only
so dead tired--that's the trouble."

"Then you'd better get right into bed. Here's my old plaid
dressing-gown--you remember it, don't you?" Ann Eliza laughed, recalling
Evelina's ironies on the subject of the antiquated garment. With
trembling fingers she began to undo her sister's cloak. The dress
beneath it told a tale of poverty that Ann Eliza dared not pause to
note. She drew it gently off, and as it slipped from Evelina's shoulders
it revealed a tiny black bag hanging on a ribbon about her neck. Evelina
lifted her hand as though to screen the ba