Going back to the kitchen, she found Sim about beginning on his dinner. Little Pet was with him; the rest of the children were at the school-house. "Where is she?" "I d' know. Out in the garden, I expect. She don't eat with me now. I never see her. She don't come near _me_. I ain't seen her since Saturday." Lily was shocked inexpressibly and began to see more clearly the magnitude of the task she had set herself to do. But it must be done; she felt that a tragedy was not far off. It must be averted. "Mr. Burns, what have you done? What _have_ you done?" she asked in terror and horror. "Don't lay it all to _me_! She hain't done nawthin' but complain f'r ten years. I couldn't do nothin' to suit her. She was always naggin' me." "I don't think Lucretia Burns would nag anybody. I don't say you're _all_ to blame, but I'm afraid you haven't acknowledged you were _any_ to blame. I'm afraid you've not been patient with her. I'm going out to bring her in. If she comes, will you _say_ you were _part_ to blame? You needn't beg her pardon--just say you'll try to be better. Will you do it? Think how much she has done for you! Will you?" He remained silent, and looked discouragingly rude. His sweaty, dirty shirt was open at the neck, his arms were bare, his scraggly teeth were yellow with tobacco, and his uncombed hair lay tumbled about on his high, narrow head. His clumsy, unsteady hands played with the dishes on the table. His pride was struggling with his sense of justice; he knew he ought to consent, and yet it was so hard to acknowledge himself to blame. The girl went on in a voice piercingly sweet, trembling with pity and pleading. "What word can I carry to her from you? I'm going to go and see her. If I could take a word from _you_, I know she would come back to the table. Shall I tell her you feel to blame?" The answer was a long time coming; at last the man nodded an assent, the sweat pouring from his purple face. She had set him thinking; her victory was sure. Lily almost ran out into the garden and to the strawberry patch, where she found Lucretia in her familiar, colorless, shapeless dress, picking berries in the hot sun, the mosquitoes biting her neck and hands. "Poor, pathetic, dumb sufferer!" the girl thought as she ran up to her. She dropped her dish as she heard Lily coming, and gazed up into the tender, pitying face. Not a word was spoken, but something she saw there made her eyes fill with tears, and her throat swell. It was pure sympathy. She put her arms around the girl's neck and sobbed for the first time since Friday night. Then they sat down on the grass under the hedge, and she told her story, interspersed with Lily's horrified comments. When it was all told, the girl still sat listening. She heard Radbourn's calm, slow voice again. It helped her not to hate Burns; it helped her to pity and understand him: