But never mind that. It's
about the little girl I came. I heard about the accident,
and--and it broke me all up. Last week I heard how she couldn't
ever walk again, and--and I wished I could give up my two
uselessly well legs for hers. She'd do more good trotting around
on 'em one hour than I could in a hundred years. But never mind
that. Legs ain't always given to the one who can make the best
use of 'em, I notice."
She paused, and cleared her throat; but when she resumed her
voice was still husky.
"Maybe you don't know it, but I've seen a good deal of that
little girl of yours. We live on the Pendleton Hill road, and she
used to go by often--only she didn't always GO BY. She came in
and played with the kids and talked to me--and my man, when he
was home. She seemed to like it, and to like us. She didn't know,
I suspect, that her kind of folks don't generally call on my
kind. Maybe if they DID call more, Miss Harrington, there
wouldn't be so many--of my kind," she added, with sudden
bitterness.
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