Alan rose, and she plunged her hand into her pocket.
"Just look here!" she said accusingly, as she drew out a crumpled paper bag.
Alan caught it from her hand and peered down into it.
"Pulverized gingersnaps!" he exclaimed. "Want some, Jessie?"
"I'm so hungry, I'm thankful for anything," she replied. "Let's eat up the largest pieces ourselves, Polly, and make Alan take the dust for his share, for he was the one to blame."
"I know it, and now he'll never know how good they were," returned Polly relentlessly, as the girls devoured the contents of the bag, even to the last crumb. "He deserves to go hungry."
"But what's that building over there?" asked Jessie, a little later, pointing to a great red house on the side of a distant hill.
"That? That's the poorhouse," replied Polly, after studying it for a minute or two. "I came here once with papa, ever so long ago. I'd like to know how we ever managed to get here; it's seven or eight miles from town."
"Seven or eight miles from town! And we are dying of starvation," said Alan.
"Speak for yourself, please; Jessie and I have had lunch," said Polly. "But," she went on, struck with a sudden thought, "let's go and see Miss Bean, and maybe she'll invite us to dinner. She ought to, for she's been fed at our house often enough."