For Mrs. Forsyth had shared her gifts of the previous evening with her neighbours, and a good half-loaf and a tiny piece of meat might have been seen on the corner of the mantel-shelf.
"Gran'father, d'ye think we'll see Lettie here again?" asked Ailie presently.
"No," said Hor. "They'll take precious good care she don't come among us poor folk no more."
"Ye're unjust, boy," said Job. "'Twas only yester' mornin' she were taken home. D'ye think she'd ha' come or could ha' come before this?"
"I don't think as she'll come at all," said Hor, doggedly. "I tells mother she's lost to us, she be. An' much the gentlefolk 'll care for what we feels about her."
"Aye, you an' she was mighty close friends. 'Tis hard on ye, boy, to lose her so sudden," said Job. "But 'tis all for her good, an' ye must think o' that. I don't reckon, somehow, ye'll be a loser neither in the end."
"O I don't count, not I, on gentlefolks' gratitude," said Hor. "They've got her now, an' what 'll they care for else?"
"Ye're wrong, boy,—wrong altogether," said Job. "But wait an' see,—that 'll be worth more 'n all I could say to persuade ye."
"I'm sure 'twas a beautiful lot o' things they sent ye all yesterday evening," said Ailie. "An' wasn't Mrs. Forsyth good, gran'father, to be a-givin' us so much!"
"Maybe they thinks a good supper 'll pay back all the five years we've taken charge o' little Lettie," said Hor.