Nance
might have managed Mr. Snawdor, however, had it not been for the grave
problem of Fidy Yager.
"Ike Lavinski says she ought to be in a hospital some place," she urged
Mrs. Snawdor. "He says she never is going to be any better. He says it's
epilepsy."
"Wel he ain't tellin' me anything' I don't know," said Mrs. Snawdor, "but
I ain't goin' to put her away, not if she th'ows a fit a minute!"
It was not maternal solicitude alone that prompted this declaration. The
State allowed seventy-live dollars a year to parents of epileptic
children, and Mrs. Snawdor had found Fidy a valuable asset. Just what her
being kept at home cost the other children was never reckoned.
"Well, I'll take care of her on one condition," stipulated Nance. "You
got to keep Lobelia at school. It ain't fair for her to have to stay home
to nurse Fidy."
"Well, if she goes to school, she's got to work at night. You was doin'
your two hours at Lavinski's long before you was her age."
"I don't care if I was. Lobelia ain't strong like me. I tell you she
ain't goin' to do home finishing, not while I'm here."
"Well, somebody's got to do it," said Mrs. Snawdor. "You can settle it
between you."
Nance held out until the middle of January; then in desperation she went
back to the Lavinskis. The rooms looked just as she had left them, and
the whirring machines seemed never to have stopped. The acrid smell of
hot cloth still mingled with the odor of pickled herrings, and Mr.
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