“But you know that I like plenty; I have told you so a thousand times.”
“But, dear Tom, I have not plenty to give you—we have nearly come to the end of our little store. And you know,” continued she, lowering her voice, “that we cannot buy more until we are paid for these shirts.”
The little girl did not add that for the last three days she had not tasted any sugar herself.
“Nonsense!” cried Tom, starting up from his seat, and hastily entering the cottage. He took down from the shelf a large broken cup, which was used to contain the store of sugar. Mrs. Wingfield was lying asleep in the back-room, being laid up with a worse headache than usual.
Fearing lest her mother should be roused from her sleep, Minnie followed her brother, her finger on her lip, a look of anxious warning on her face. But both look and gesture were lost upon Tom, who was thinking of nothing but himself.
“Here’s plenty for to-day,” he said in a careless tone, emptying half the supply into his bowl.
“But, Tom—our poor mother—she is ill, you know—”
“Well, I’ve not taken it all.”
“But we cannot afford—”
“Don’t torment me!” cried Tom angrily, helping himself to more.