there but Mrs. Binn;
and we used to know her before she moved there. Do you want to know of
anybody else in trouble?"

"Do you think of somebody else?"

"Not a child," said Sarah; "she's an old woman, or kind of old."

"Well; who is she?"

"She's Mrs. Kitteredge; her husband's a brick mason. Mother used to
know her long ago, and she was a smart woman; but she's had a deal o'
pulling down."

"What does she want now, Sarah?"

"It's too bad to tell you, Miss Matilda; you've done so much for us
already."

"Never mind," said David; "go on; let us hear."

"Well"--Sarah hesitated.

"Is she sick too?"

"No, she ain't sick; she has been."

"What then?"

"I don't feel as if I had no right to tell you, sir; you and Miss
Matilda. I spoke before I thought enough about it. She ain't noways
sick; but she has had some sort o' sickness that has made her fingers
all crumple up, like; they have bent in _so_, and she can't straighten
'em out, not a bit; and if you take hold of 'em you can only pull 'em
open a little bit. And it hurts her so to do her work, poor thing!"

"Do what work?"

"All her work, Miss Matilda--same as if her hands was good. She washes
and irons her clothes and his, and cooks for him, and makes her room
clean; but it takes her all day 'most; and sometimes, she says, she
gets out o' heart and feels like sittin' down and givin' up; but she
never does, leastways when I see her. I go in and make her bed when I
can; that's what she hardly can do for herself."

"I should think not!" said Matilda.

"She can't lift her hands to her head to put up her hair; and she
suffers a deal."

"Is she so very poor too, Sarah?"

"No, Miss Matilda, it ain't that. He gets good wages and brings 'em
home; but he's a pertiklar man and he expects she'll have everything
just as smart as if she had her fingers."

"Then what can we do for her, Sarah?"

"I don't know, ma'am;--I was thinkin', if she could have one o' them
rollers that wrings clothes--it tries her awful to wring 'em with her
hands."

"A clothes-wringer! O yes," cried Matilda.

"What is that?" said David.

"I will shew you. Thank you, Sarah; it was quite right to tell us.
We'll see what we can do."

But after they had parted from Sarah the little girl walked quite
silently and soberly homeward. David stopped at a grocer's to get some
white grapes, and turned back to carry them to the sick child; and
Matilda went the rest of her way alone.

CH