However, we had now entered the cottage. It was very poor, and had a sort of sofa or settle near the fire, on which was laid an old paralytic woman, whose shaking head and hand proclaimed at once how she was afflicted. A stout tall woman, the mistress of the cottage, went and came about the poor room, preparing the dinner, I suppose, but taking no notice of the invalid, that I could see, though her feeble half-articulate voice seemed to run on nevertheless in an unfailing stream, and there was an eagerness in her gray bleared eye, which testified that this old woman, at least, though she had lost everything else, had not lost her interest in the world. She assailed us with a flood of imperfect words, which I could scarcely make out, but which seemed easy to Miss Saville, and a craving for news, and restless curiosity, which seemed very dreadful to me in this old, old woman. "So, she's com'd home!" she said, and I knew she referred to me, "does she know her own mind by this time? Ah, ah, ah! it do make poor folks laugh to see the ways of the quality, that never know when they're well." "Hold your peace, Sally," said Miss Saville, imperatively, "the lady herself has taken the trouble to come from Cottiswoode to see you, you ungrateful old woman; and to see what she can do for you to make you comfortable; do you hear? You ought to thank her and show some feeling; but I am sure you poor folks in Cambridgeshire are the most ungrateful in the world." "The old folks you mean, Miss," said the younger woman. "You will call her Miss, ye unmannerly wench," said the mother-in-law, chuckling; "Madam Saville, I know you--I know naught of the young one. Make me comfortable! I'm an old poor crittur, past my work, and I've had a stroke; and I want rest to my old bones. But these young uns, that's able to stir about and help themselves, they think aught's good eno' for me." She began to whimper as she spoke. Alas--alas! the heroism of my vocation had deserted me. I felt nothing but disgust for the miserable old woman. I could not endure to go near her or touch her--it sickened me to think of the proposed asylum, and of doing menial services with my own hands to such a creature as this. But Miss Saville was unmoved. I suppose she had no elevated ideas of self-martyrdom. "Well then, Sally, that is just what I came to speak about," she said; "you're in the way in your son's house; and you feel you're in the way." "Who said it? was't Tilda there?" cried the old woman, firmly. "I'll make him wallop her--that I will, when the lad comes home. Where is an old woman to be welcome but with her children? Oh! you sarpent! it's all along o' you."