"See here, Miss Helen, it ain't none o' my business, I know, but I've just got to speak. Your eyes are all teary, and your cheeks have got two red spots in 'em. You've been cryin'. I know you have. You're so thin I could just blow you over with a good big breath. And I know what's the matter. You're all wore out. You 're doin' too much. No mortal woman can work both day and night!" "But I don't--quite," stammered the girl "Besides, there is so much to be done. You know, mother--though she isn't very sick--can do but little for herself." "Yes, I know she don't--seem to. But is n't there some one else that could help?" The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes sought for a means of escape. "Why, no, of course not. There is n't any one," she murmured. "You are very kind, really, Mrs. Mason, but I must go--now." The other did not move. She was standing directly before the hall door. "There 's--your brother." The girl lifted her head quickly. A look that was almost fear came into her eyes. "Why, how did you know that I had--a brother?" "Know it!" scoffed Mrs. Mason. "I have known your mother for a year--ever since she moved here; and as if a body could know _her_ and not hear of _him_! He's the very apple of her eye. Why can't he--help? Would n't he, if he knew?" "Why, Mrs. Mason, of course! He has--he does," declared the girl quickly, the red deepening in her cheeks. "He--he sent her money only to-day." "Yes, I know; she told me--of that." Mrs. Mason's voice was significant in its smoothness. "Your mother said she was going to get her--a tie." "Yes, a tie," repeated Helen, with feverish lightness; "lace, you know. Mother does so love pretty things! Oh, and by the way," hurried on the girl breathlessly, "if you don't mind--about the dinners, you know. Mother does n't care for codfish-and-cream, and if you could just substitute something else, I'll pay more, of course! I'd expect to do that. I've been thinking for some time that you ought to have at least ten cents a day more--if you could manage--on that. And--thank you; if you _would_ remember about--the codfish, and now I really must--go!" she finished. And before Mrs. Mason knew quite what had happened a flying figure had darted by her through the half-open doorway. "Well, of all things! _Now_ what have I said?" muttered the puzzled woman, staring after her visitor. "Ten cents a day more, indeed! And where, for the land's sake, is the poor lamb going to find that?" Long hours later in the Raymond flat, after the mending was done, the waist ironed, and the mother's querulous tongue had been silenced by sleep, the "poor lamb" sat down with her little account book and tried to discover just that--where she was going to find the extra ten cents a day to buy off Mrs. Mason's codfish.