"Yes, I do. To an eschange for womans. I have teeket and that make me
one member."

"I see; 'tis an excellent plan. But who keeps house for you?"

"Oh, that is an easy thing. I do skin off the potatoes and schop up the
meat for the hash, and Babette, she do sweep with the broom and set out
the table. And while we work she can tell me all there is going about
outside, and I can tell how mooch bettare I am doing this day--do not
you see?"

"I see you must be very happy together! But do you stay alone all day!
And what if you need something, meanwhile?" she laughed.

"See?" with a comprehensive sweep of the hands, "I have everything. But
for fear I do get sick, see this?"

She put out her hand to a rope dangling along the wall close beside her.
"When I pull hard once Lucie, in the next house, knows that I would like
to see her, but it is not bad; when I pull twice then she must indeed
run quick, for I need her. She is so good, little Lucie!"

By her motions Joyce knew she was speaking of the house upon the
opposite side from that where she herself had just called. So, feeling
she must economize her time, and anxious to learn all she could, she
asked at once,

"Who is this Lucy? Please tell me about her."

There was a way with Joyce that made people like to confide in her. She
was so bright and pretty, so interested, and so free from guile, that
hearts opened to her as blossoms to the sun. One could not long be
reserved in her presence. The invalid smiled upon her and chatted on in
her odd English, telling of the children next door lately left
motherless, where the oldest girl, Lucy, aged sixteen, was bravely
keeping house for father, and looking after two younger girls, a baby
boy, just learning to toddle alone and a younger baby of a few months.
It was evident a great friendship existed between this little
Frenchwoman and the maiden, and that there was mutual helpfulness in
their intercourse, Lucy bringing youthful cheer and strength to exchange
for thoughtful lessons in some of the finer ways of living, not common
here.

"I hope her father is very good to her!" cried Joyce, becoming at once a
partisan of the plucky child, upon whom the other was showering
encomiums. "Only sixteen, and doing all that! Is he a fine workman? Does
he earn much?"

"Yes, when he do work." The embroiderer bent over her frame with renewed
diligence, and shut her lips together in a determined way.

"I understand," said Joyce quic