I then ordered in the pails, and bread—everything that would be wanted before dinner, and took my station at the table with the determination not to be drawn away from it upon any pretense.
The smell of the meat to the poor, half-fed things was very savory, and they came around picking up the bits which fell off while it was being carved.
"Please ma'am, give me a bone,—just the least bit of bone!" was the cry perpetually in my ears. And the bones I was forced to give to their importunity as fast as they were freed from the meat.
To keep their fingers from that meat was like fighting eagles from a dead carcass.
Bridget O'Halloran's ways were suspicious. I thought she had eluded my vigilance, and secreted some of it in spite of me. I kept watch of her motions for the rest of the day.
I noticed that she visited the shed very frequently. If I wanted her I was continually obliged to send for her. At last I thought I would go myself and see what attraction that old shed had become so suddenly possessed of.
When I discovered her she was stooping down in the middle of the building without any apparent object in view.
"Bridget—I want you in the kitchen at this moment!"
She was fumbling about her stocking. I stood looking at her while she was apparently arranging it.
"What is the matter with your stocking, Bridget?"