Lady, are you rich?

They  huddled  inside  the  storm  door -two children in ragged outgrow 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." There was no conversation.   Their   soggy   sandals   left marks upon the hearthstone.Cocoa and toast with jam to fortify against the chill outside. I went back to the kitchen and started again on my household budget...The silence in the front room struck through to me. I looked in.The  girl  held  the  empty  cup  in  her  hands, looking  at  it.  The  boy  asked  in  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." 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 done 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  good  steady  job -these  things matched, too.