She did not note the sudden relief which came upon the face of at least one of her auditors. “But that don’t make no difference,” she resumed. “Thar’ll be plenty of room fer ye. If ye was up in my country now, I’d have ye come home with me, but it’s ten mile up the creek. I jest walked down this mornin’ along of my mewel takin’ sick a few days back.” “You walked—ten miles!” “I sartinly did. But like I said, ye kain’t walk that fer, bein’ furriners. Why, chile, frail-like as ye air, ye’d be plumb beat out by that time, an’ so would yore sister here—ye said yore sister, didn’t ye?” “She’s more than that,” said Polly Pendleton. “She’s the only friend I’ve got now. We’re both awfully obliged to you, Mrs. Joslin. We certainly are. We’d do as much for you.” “I believe ye would, myself,” said Granny Joslin simply. “Ye’ll be welcome here, so fer as what we got to give ye. We’re all alike.” Polly Pendleton was pausing for a moment’s thought. “We hadn’t the slightest idea in the world, of course, or we’d never have come here. We—I don’t think we want to bother Mrs. Haddon, you know. She’d rather be alone, I’m sure.” She held back, hesitating. “She’s a fine womern, Ma’am, accordin’ to Davy,” rejoined the old woman. “He says she’s the finest he ever seed, and he’s been Outside and seed a power of things in his time, Davy has.” “Well,” broke in Polly Pendleton, now with a certain asperity, “one thing, she can’t be any hungrier than I am right now.” “So long as ye kin eat ye’re a-goin’ to survive your sorrer, Ma’am, I always heerd,” rejoined Granny Joslin grimly. “Well, come along. We all got to die some time, come to that.” She placed her pipe in her pocket now, after knocking out the ashes, and started out forthwith in the lead, her bent and bony body, shrunken and battered under the weight of years and infirmity, scarce as tall as Polly Pendleton by half a head. Her course was across the street along which, further down, lay the house of Granny Williams. “Well, Nina, old dear,” commented Polly, _sotto voce_, as they followed, “things couldn’t be much worse, could they? Poor chap—isn’t it a horrible thing? And we never knew a word!” Her uncommunicative comrade only nodded, her face drawn into lines none too happy now, for she it was, of the firm of Pendleton and Stanton, who usually was the more concerned with the business affairs. “And here’s his wife in here, too—that makes it a lot harder,” she said at length. “I’ve a picture of how much she loves you, Polly! There’s plenty of places I’d rather be in than right here now, my dear!” “Well, I’m hungry,” resumed Polly once more, trying to shake off care, as always. “Is this the place, Grandma?” she added, hurrying up now and giving a hand to the old dame’s elbow, as she turned in at the steep walk behind the gate. “It’s the place, Ma’am,” said Granny Joslin. “Come on in. Whether Granny Williams is home or not ye’ll be welcome in her house. It hain’t never locked.” CHAPTER XXVI