“That’s yer supper,” said Mrs Tuvvy mournfully. “You ain’t never goin’ to give it to the cat! Well, you won’t get no more.”
Dan knelt by the couch, and tried to put a little warm milk into the kitten’s mouth with the spoon, but its teeth were firmly shut.
“You open its mouth, Dan, and I’ll feed it,” said Becky eagerly. “There, it swallowed that—now some more. See; it’s better already.”
For the kitten had opened its eyes, and given itself a little stretch. Soon it was able to lap some milk out of the saucer, and to eat some crumbled bread.
“Ain’t it a little dear?” said Becky, her thin face lighted up with pleasure. “Oh Dan, it’s purring! It must be quite well, mustn’t it?”
“I expect it’ll want a good long sleep first,” said Dan, looking gravely at the kitten, which had curled itself up by Becky’s side, and begun a faint little song of thankfulness; “it’s been through a deal.”
He took his neglected supper, and sat down to eat it at the foot of Becky’s couch, while Mrs Tuvvy returned to her cooking at the fire, still grumbling half aloud. There was not much bread and milk, and Dan, who always had a good appetite, was unusually hungry after his exertions that afternoon. He had been through a deal, as well as the kitten. But by dint of talking to his sister between each spoonful, he managed to eke out the meal, and make it seem much more. Becky listened with the most eager interest, meanwhile, to all the details of the fight, the policeman, and the escape of Dan with the kitten. When there was no more to tell, and very little more to eat, she leaned back on her couch and sighed.
“He’s a reg’lar bad un, that Bill!” she said presently. “Will he want to fight again?”
Dan shook his head. “I shan’t come across him no more,” he said; “not now I’m going to a place.”
“I forgot,” said Becky wearily. “Oh Dan, how long the days’ll be when you don’t come home to dinner. Whatever shall I do?”