Except for an occasional request for food, the meal
was eaten in silence, while the old people curiously watched the
matron's group, and listened eagerly to the conversation they kept
up. Polly, too, was silent, gazing with a curious fascination at
the long line of aged faces, some peaceful, others querulous, but
all so alike that the row of them seemed to become an endless
perspective of white caps and wagging jaws. Her reverie was
interrupted by Miss Bean, who leaned across the table to say
reprovingly to Jessie, as she refused the boiled cabbage,--
"Folks that go a-visiting hadn't ought to be difficult with their
victuals."
"Can you imagine anything more dreadful than to live in such a
place?" exclaimed Polly, as they drove away, after being conducted
over the establishment. "I'd work and scrimp, year after year,
rather than, just sit down and be supported by the town."
"Yes," answered Jessie; "but I suppose they do have real good
times, in their way."
"So does a cat that eats her milk, and then goes to sleep in the
sun," returned Polly. "That may be their way, but I'm thankful it
isn't mine."
"I presume all they care for is to have enough to eat, and to keep
warm in winter and cool in summer," said Alan.
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