My thoughts and feelings were changing. By the time the washerwoman
came in, my interest in her was alive again.

"Sit down," said I, to the tired-looking creature who sank into a
chair, evidently much wearied.

"It's hard work, Mrs. Partridge," said I.

"Yes, ma'am, it is rather hard. But I am thankful for health and
strength to enable me to go through with it. I know some poor women
who have to work as hard as I do, and yet do not know what it is to
feel well for an hour at a time."

"Poor creatures!" said I. "It is very hard! How in the world can
they do it?"

"We can do a great deal, ma'am, when it comes the pinch; and it is
much pleasanter to do, I find, than to think about it. If I were to
think much I should give up in despair. But I pray the Lord each
morning to give me my daily bread, and thus far he has done it, and
will, I am sure, continue to do it to the end."

"Happy it is for you that you can so think and feel," I replied.
"But I am sure I could not be as you are, Mrs. Partridge. It would
kill me."

"I sincerely trust, ma'am, that you will never be called to pass
through what I have," said Mrs. Partridge. "And yet there are those
who have it still harder. There was a time when the thought of being
as poor as I now am, and of having to work so hard, would have been