“Friends!” the old woman shrieked at her. “_Friends!_ Oh, my God!” But her rage and her wild dance had exhausted her, and she sank down now upon the edge of the tumbled, unmade bed, trembling and shaken. “Oh,” she moaned, “ain’t it a cruel thing that a person can’t be left alone--not one minute--sick an’ miserable like I am! But strangers got to come pushin’ an’ crowdin’ their way in here to stare at my dirt an’ my rags! Take your eyes off my feet!” she broke out violently, beginning once more to dance her feet up and down upon the floor, as though shaking something off. “Take ’em off, I tell you--I feel ’em--I feel ’em lookin’, burnin’ holes in my feet!” With shaking hands she dragged at her nightgown, endeavoring to pull it down and cover her naked feet. But the material was old and rotten. It gave way under the violence of her hands, and a long tear was wrenched in it. For a moment old Miss Fogg stared at it, clutching the torn stuff and peering stupidly at her bare old knees exposed by the rent. Then she burst into impotent tears. “Look,” she wept. “Now just look what I done to my gown!” All the rage and defiance were gone. She was a despairing, helpless old woman weeping upon the edge of her bed, incapable any more of coping with the difficulties of life. “Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” she wept, her shoulders shaking convulsively beneath her straggling hair. The tears leaped into Julie’s eyes. She came quickly and laid a tender hand on her shoulder. “Never mind, never mind about your gown,” she comforted. “I’ll mend it for you.” “It ain’t my gown,” the other wept. “It ain’t _just_ my gown! It’s--O God Almighty! _It’s everything!_” “I know! I know!” Julie cried poignantly. “You’re sick. I understand.” “I’m crazy. I’m all in a kind of a daze.” The old woman wept convulsively. “O God, what’s the matter with me? I can’t seem to find myself.” She looked up at Julie, her mouth tremulous and her old eyes filmed with despairing tears. “I can’t find myself, I--I b’lieve I’m crazy,” she repeated desperately. “I can’t fix up no more. I ain’t got no heart left for nothing.” She turned her head dumbly from side to side. “I know everything’s dirty: it’s all in a mess. But I can’t fix up no more.” “You’re tired.” “Tired! I’m so tired I wish’t I was dead,” the other cried. “I know; I understand,” Julie’s tender hand still caressed her. “But I’ve come to help you. I’m your friend. I’ll fix everything up for you, an’ then you won’t feel so bad. Look at the flowers I brought you.” She held the gay, alluring little nosegay out. The old woman took her clinched hands down from her face, and stared dimly at it. Her cheeks were smudged with tears, and she swallowed convulsively, like a child when its storm of grief is past. “See,” Julie went on, her compassionate voice soothing her. “See, honey, I got them in market for you this morning. Look how nice an’ fresh they are.”