Miss Hatchard clasped her nervous hands about the arms of her chair. Her
eyes invoked the faded countenances on the wall, and after a faint cough
of indecision she brought out: "The... the housework's too hard for you,
I suppose?"
Charity's heart grew cold. She understood that Miss Hatchard had no
help to give her and that she would have to fight her way out of her
difficulty alone. A deeper sense of isolation overcame her; she felt
incalculably old. "She's got to be talked to like a baby," she thought,
with a feeling of compassion for Miss Hatchard's long immaturity. "Yes,
that's it," she said aloud. "The housework's too hard for me: I've been
coughing a good deal this fall."
She noted the immediate effect of this suggestion. Miss Hatchard paled
at the memory of poor Eudora's taking-off, and promised to do what she
could. But of course there were people she must consult: the clergyman,
the selectmen of North Dormer, and a distant Hatchard relative at
Springfield. "If you'd only gone to school!" she sighed.
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