"I hav'nt eaten so long, mother," he said. "Why aint you got any bread?"
"Because mother is poor and without any money," she replied.
"But I feel so hungry," again the child remarked.
"I know it, my sweet boy," replied his mother, "but wait a little longer and I will give you something to eat."
Her heart was wrung with agony at the complaint of the child and his call for bread; but she knew not how to evade his questions or to procure food. The thought of asking charity had never once entered her mind, for those with whom she had daily intercourse, were too much engaged in self-interest to make her hope that any appeal for help would touch their sordid hearts; and yet food must be had, but how she knew not. Her promise to give her child food, on the next day, was made only to silence his call for bread. There was no prospect of receiving any money, and she could not see her children starve. But one recourse was left. She must sell the bed—the last piece of furniture remaining in the room—no matter that in so doing her wretchedness increased instead of diminished.
The child was not satisfied with her promise. The pangs he endured were too much for one of his age, and again he uttered his call for bread.
"There is no bread, Willy," said Eva, speaking for the first time. "Don't ask for any bread. It makes mamma sad."
The child opened his large blue eyes enquiringly upon his sister.
"My sweet, darling child," exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, clasping the little Ella to her heart, and then bursting into tears at this proof of her child's fortitude, she continued: "Are you not hungry, too?"
"Yes, mother," she replied, "but"—Here the little girl ceased to speak as if desirous of sparing her mother pain.