“Two or three months; he had a bad fall awhile ago, and lay out in the rain and cold for several hours. The fall strained him, and that, with the cold he took, threw him into a quick consumption. He will live only a few days longer,” she concluded, with a sigh. “But how do _you_ happen to be here?” she asked a moment after, with a stare of surprise at Editha’s rich garments. It had but just come to her that she was entertaining a very unusual guest. “I met your daughter in the street, and she told me of your suffering; so I came to see what I could do for you,” was the gentle answer. “Poor Milly!” the woman sighed, and then, seeming to be overcome by stupor, fell back into her former position. She was so weakened by hunger, and cold, and the fatigue of watching, that she was scarcely conscious of Editha’s presence, and had answered her questions in a mechanical sort of way. Ere long a quick, light step sounded on the stairs, and the next moment Milly entered, bearing a basket of coal in one hand, a pail and two or three packages in the other. “Here, mother, come quick,” she said, in an eager whisper; “help me make a fire and warm broth for father. I got it ’round the corner at the oyster-house.” She had deposited her burdens in the middle of the floor, and was down upon her knees before the warped and cracked stove before she had ceased speaking, nimbly yet quietly laying the kindlings, which in another instant she kindled, and a cheerful roar and crackling sounded through the room, giving promise of warmth and comfort ere long. “That’s the sweetest music we’ve heard for a month, isn’t it mother?” Milly said, in a cheery whisper; and Mrs. Loker, as if aroused by the unaccustomed sound, arose and dragged her weary steps across the floor toward where she sat. But her strength was exhausted before she reached her, and she sank down beside the stove, helpless and nearly fainting. Milly, meanwhile, had produced a candle from somewhere, which she lighted and set upon the mantel over the stove. “Drink a little of this, mother,” the child said, springing to her and putting the pail to her blue lips. The woman eagerly grasped it and swallowed a few mouthfuls of the oyster broth which it contained. “Poor mother!” Milly said, pityingly. “I know you feel as if the bottom had dropped out of your stomach. I did, and I _couldn’t_ help nibbling just a little on the way home. Now eat this;” and she broke off a mouthful of soft roll and gently forced it into Mrs. Loker’s mouth. It was the saddest sight that the delicate and daintily-bred Editha Dalton had ever seen in her life; and she could only stand there and weep silently, while she watched that hungry child feeding her starving mother with tender, loving hands.