white summer shawl,
and her old straw bonnet was trimmed with a narrow blue ribbon pieced in
two places. Her voice was slightly monotonous, but low-keyed: as she spoke
her hands clasped and unclasped each other. The veins stood out and the
knuckles were enlarged, but they were rather white than otherwise.

She went on with her story: "The children are so good, Mrs. Greymer; but
six of them, and me not over strong--it makes it hard. We hain't had
anything but corn meal in the house all this week, and the second-hand
woman says our things ain't worth the carting. The children have got so
shabby they hate to go to school, and the boys laugh at Willie 'cause his
hat's his pa's old one and ain't got no brim, though I bound it with the
best of the old braid, for I thought maybe they'd think it was a cap. And
the worst was this morning, when there was nothin' but just mush: we
hadn't even 'lasses, and the children cried. Oh, I didn't go to tell you
all this: you know I ain't a beggar. I've tried to live decent. Oh dear!
oh dear!" She tried to wipe away the tears which were running down her
thin cheeks with the tips of her fingers, but they came too fast.
Mechanically, she put her hand in her pocket, only to take it out empty.

Mrs. Greymer slipped her own dainty handkerchief, which the countess had
embroidered, into the other's hand. "You ought to have come to me before,
Martha," she said reproachfully--"such an old friend as I am!"

"'Tain't easy to have them as has known you when you were like folks see
you without even a handkerchief to cry on," said Mrs. Bailey. "If I'd
known where to turn for a loaf of bread, I'd not ha' come now; but I can't
see my children starve. And I ain't come to beg now. All we want is honest
work. William has been everywhere since they sent him away from Dorsey's
just because the men talked about striking, though they didn't strike.
He's been to all the machine-shops, but they won't take him: they say he
has too long a tongue for them, though he's as sober and steady a man as
lives, and there ain't a better workman in M----, or D---- either. William
is willing to do anything: he tried to get work on the streets, but the
street commissioner said he'd more men he'd employed for years asking work
than he knew what to do with. And I thought--I thought, Mrs. Greymer, if
you would only speak to Mrs. von Arno--"

"Good-morning, Mrs. Bailey," said the countess, advancing. She had a
musical voice, clear