“NOW I hope we shall have no more troubles before father comes home,” said Madge on the Saturday afternoon, as she helped her mother to iron some pinafores and pocket-handkerchiefs she had been washing out. “Baby’s getting better, and only wants plenty of strengthening food; and Jem begins work again on Monday—only three shillings a week, though, to begin with—I’m afraid he’ll soon be tired of that; and—why do you look so serious, mother?”
“I have so much to make me look so, Madge. You talk of no further troubles, and forget that to-morrow’s Sunday, and there’s nothing for dinner.”
Madge looked horrified, and scorched a handkerchief through stopping to gaze at her mother.
“Have you come to an end of your money?” she asked.
“Very nearly. I must keep enough to get what’s necessary for baby.”
“Oh, mother! I ought to try and earn something too, though I shouldn’t like to leave you to do all the work at home. Well, never mind about meat for to-morrow. We’ll just have bread, that’s the cheapest thing.”
“What’s that?” asked Jack, coming in, for he was free early on Saturday. “Nothing but bread for dinner? Here’s enough for a mutton chop or two at any rate.” And he placed some shillings on the ironing-cloth before Mrs. Kayll.
“My dear boy!” she cried; “five! What have you done for your own dinners during the week?”
Jack was nearly through the doorway by this time, but he looked back over his shoulder half laughing, half confused.
“I’ve gone without any,” he said, and ran off.