"Oh, come in, whoever it is," said a querulous, plaintive voice. "Well, Mrs Rhoda, I thought you would have been to see me before. A poor lonely creature, that nobody cares for, and never has any comfort nor pleasure! And who have you with you? I'm sure she's in a deep consumption from the looks of her. Coltsfoot, my dear, and horehound, with plenty of sugar, boiled together; and a little mallow won't hurt. But they'll not do you much good, I should say; you're too far gone: still, 'tis a duty to do all one can, and some strange things do happen: like Betty Collins--the doctors all gave her up, and there she is, walking about, as well as anybody. And so may you, my dear, though you don't look like it. Still, you are young--there's no telling: and coltsfoot is a very good thing, and makes wonderful cures. Oh, that careless Jane, to leave me all alone, just when I wanted my pillows shaking! And so inconsiderate of Nell to go home just to-day, of all days, when she knew I was sure to be worse; I always am after a fast-day. Fast-days don't suit me at all; they are very bad for sick people. They make one's spirits so low, and are sure to give me the vapours. Oh dear, that Jane!" "What's the matter with that Jane?" demanded the bearer of the name, stalking in, as Phoebe was trying to brace up her courage to the point of offering to shake the pillows. "Want another dose of castor oil? I've got it." A faint shriek of deprecation was the answer. "Oh dear! And you know how I hate it! Jane, do shake up my pillows. They feel as if there were stones instead of flocks in them, or--" "Nutmegs, no doubt," suggested Mrs Jane. "Shake them up? Oh yes, and you too--do you both good." "Oh, don't, Jane! Have you an orange for me?" "Sit down, my dears," said Mrs Jane, parenthetically. "Can't afford them, Marcella. Plenty of black currant tea. Better for you." "I don't like it!" said Mrs Marcella, plaintively. "Oranges are eightpence a-piece, and currants may be had for the gathering," observed Mrs Jane, sententiously. "They give me a pain in my side!" moaned the invalid. "Well, the oranges would give you a pain in your purse. I'd rather have one in my side, if I were you." "You don't know what it is to be ill!" said Mrs Marcella, closing her eyes. "Don't I? I've had both small-pox and spotted fever." "So long ago!" "Bless you, child! I'm not Methuselah!" said Mrs Jane. "Well, I think you might be, Jane, for really, the way in which you can sit up all night, and look as fresh as a daisy in the morning, when you have not had a wink of sleep, and I am perfectly worn-out with suffering--just skin and bone, and no more--" "There's a little tongue left, I reckon!" said Mrs Jane.