"Never mind," broke in the placid-looking lady again, trying to pour oil on the troubled waters; "don't fight. Barbara, did they look rich? Put your teeth in again--why can't you leave 'em alone! Teeth are fer your mouth and not fer your pocket. You do beat me and rile me dreadfully, Barbara." "I tell you they hurt," whimpered Barbara. "I can't even enjoy the sun with my teeth in." "Never mind. Did they?" "Did they what?" "Did they look rich?" "Oh, awful. I told you they looked like directors." "Perhaps Drusilla has friends she ain't told us about." "No, she ain't. She told me one day she didn't have a friend or a relation in the world, and if she'd a had 'em they'd a been to see her." "Oh, I don't know. That ain't no sign. Your friends ferget you when you're in an old ladies' home," said a voice bitterly. "Well, I wonder who it can be! I wish she'd hurry, so's we could ask her." "Poor Drusilla!" said a sweet-voiced little woman. "I hope some one's found her. It's awful to have no one in all the world." "How long's Drusilla been here?" "Let me see"--and an old lady put down her sewing. "I been here seven years, I was here not quite two years when Drusilla come. She's been the linen woman ever since." "Yes," said a woman who showed signs of having seen better days. Her clothes still had a look of by-gone elegance and her wrinkled hands were still dainty and beautifully kept. "Drusilla's our only _charity_ inmate." The stout old lady in the corner emitted a sound between a snort and a groan. "Charity inmate! What are we all but charity inmates!" The first old lady drew herself up stiffly. "You may speak for yourself, Mis' Graham, but _I_ am no charity inmate." "You're just as much of one as I am." "What do you mean? I pay each year a hundred and twenty dollars, and I paid when I entered an entrance fee of a hundred dollars." "So'd we all; but still this is an old ladies' charitable home." "Mis' Graham, how can you say such things!" spoke up a voice that had not been heard before. "I consider that we _pay_ our way; and my grand-nephew who was here last week considers it ample!" "Oh, so do most of our relations who'd rather pay our way in a home than be bothered with us around." "You may speak for yourself, Mis' Graham. I pay my way myself." "Yes, you was a dressmaker or something and saved a little money. Well, I never worked for my livin'. It wasn't considered ladylike in my day." "Huh! You're trying to say I'm no lady. Well, I consider that if I'm no lady and worked fer my livin', I didn't sponge off my relations and don't now." "Cat!" hissed Mrs. Graham, and sat back trying to think of some suitable answer. "But don't Drusilla pay nothin' at _all?"_ queried another woman. "Not a cent. I tell you, she's charity. She's a sort of servant. Ain't you seen the way Mis' Smith treats her and orders her around? She takes care of the linen to pay her way and does odd jobs fer Mis' Smith and the family."