Howth, coming to the gate. "Sit still,
child. Don't get down."
But the child, as she called her, had scrambled off the cart, and
stood beside her, leaning on the wheel, for she was helplessly
crippled.
"I thought you would be down to-night. I put some coffee on the
stove. Bring it out, Joel."
Mrs. Howth never put up the shield between herself and this
member of "the class,"-- because, perhaps, she was so wretchedly
low in the social scale. However, I suppose she never gave a
reason for it even to herself. Nobody could help being kind to
Lois, even if he tried. Joel brought the coffee with more
readiness than he would have waited on Mrs. Howth.
"Barney will be jealous," he said, patting the bare ribs of the
old donkey, and glancing wistfully at his mistress.
"Give him his supper, surely," she said, taking the hint.
It was a real treat to see how Lois enjoyed her supper, sipping
and tasting the warm coffee, her face in a glow, like an epicure
over some rare Falernian. You would be sure, from just that
little thing, that no sparkle of warmth or pleasure in the world
slipped by her which she did not catch and enjoy and be thankful
for to the uttermost. You would think, perhaps, pitifully, that
not much pleasure or warmth would ever go down so low, within her
reach. Now that she stood on the ground, she scarcely came up to
the level of the wheel; some deformity of her legs made her walk
with a curious rolling jerk, very comical to see.
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