Are you Rich?

This is a story that my Mom typed up (yes, actually typed) a long time ago and I have had it for years and love it. I just ran across it again and wanted to share it with you.

Are you rich? Author Unknown

They huddled inside the storm door--
two children in ragged outgrown coats.
"Any old papers, lady?"

I was busy. I wanted to say no--
until I looked down at their feet.
Thin little sandals sopped with sleet.
"Come in and I'll make you a cup of hot cocoa," I said.
There was no conversation. Their soggy sandals left marks upon the hearthstone.

Cocoa and toast and jam to fortify against the chill outside.
I went back to the kithcen and started again on the household budget.

The silence in the front room struck through to me.
I looke in.
The girl held her empty cup in her hands, looking at it.
The boy askd in a flat voice:
"Lady. . .are you rich?"

"Am I rich? Mercy no."
I looked at my shabby slipcovers.

The girl put her cup back in its saucer. . . . carefully.
"Your cups match your saucers" she said.
Her voice was old, with a hunger that was not of the stomach.

They left then, holding their bundles of papers against the wind.
They hadn't said thank you.
They didn't need to.
They had said more than that.
Plain blue pottery cups and saucers. But they matched.

I tested the potatoes and stirred the gravy.
Potatoes and brown gravy. . . a roof over our heads. . .
my man with a steady job. . .
these things matched too.

I moved the chairs back from the fire and tidied the living room.
The muddy prints of small sandals were still wet on my hearth.
I let them be.
I want them in case i ever forget how rich I am.