Mr. Pigott shook his grizzled head.
As the years went by he had an always diminishing faith in the power and will of Governments to right wrongs.
"The old chapel's the thing," he would say.
Ruth put the same question to Mr. Trupp whom she met on her way home to the Moot.
"They will if they're made to," the doctor answered, and as he saw the young woman's face fall, he added more sympathetically, "They're trying to do something locally. I don't know what'll come of it. Keep in touch with Mrs. Trupp. She'll let you know. I believe there's to be a meeting at the Town Hall."
He rolled on, grumbling and grousing to himself. Call ourselves a civilised country, and leave the women and children to take their luck! Chaos—as usual! ... Chaos backed and justified by cant! ... Would cant organise Society? ... Would cant feed the women and children? ... Would cant take the place of Scientific Method? ...
Ruth went home with her eleven shillings and sixpence and an aching heart, to find that little Alice had already arranged her brood in their bibs around the tea-table, and was only waiting for mother to come and tilt the kettle which she might not touch.
The other fledgelings hammered noisily on the table with their spoons.
"My dears," she said, as she went round the table, kissing the rosy faces uplifted to hers.
"What is it, Mum?" asked little Alice, who had something of her mother's quick sympathy and power of intuition. "Is daddy shotted at the war?"