"This is more filling," said practical Gracie.
"Dear heart, what a sensible little mite! And how dusty! You don't look very strong."
"Ah, but I am; you mustn't go by looks," said Gracie, and encouraged by the woman's kind voice, she asked if she could have a glass of water.
"You shall have a glass of milk," said the woman, going to an inner room and returning with it.
"It's good of you," said Gracie, simply, "I'm ever so much obliged to you. May I eat my loaf here?"
"Certainly, child, and sit down and rest."
The chair she pointed to had its back to the window from which Ezra Lynn's house was visible; Gracie turned it round, so that she faced it. There she sat awhile, munching her bread and drinking her milk. A man came into the shop, poorly dressed, haggard, with distress in his face, and yet with a certain defiant independence in his manner.
"Will you trust me half-a-quartern, missis?" he said, abruptly.
The woman shook her head. "You're deep enough in my books already, Mr. Mildew, and I can't afford to let you get deeper. Charity begins at home."
"And stops there," said the man. "All right. I thought I'd try. My heart's fairly broke trying to get work. It doesn't much matter. The kiddies must starve!" He turned to leave the shop.