"Here, dear," said Meg, coming in and leaning over him; "do you like a little nice hot bread and milk?"
The child could not remember the time when such a name had been mentioned to him; but when Meg put a spoonful to his lips the smell of it brought back vividly the remembrance of his mother.
"Yes," he said, answering Meg's question now; "I 'ike it very much."
When he had eaten about half he put his little hand out, and gently pushed the basin away. "No more," he whispered, and sank into sleep such as he had not had since that terrible May day, when he had been brought home nearly dying.
Then Meg turned to Cherry.
"Eat the rest of it, dear," she said.
"Oh, no," answered the child, drawing back; "it 'ull do him such a deal o' good. He never gets nothing nice."
"Jem will let me bring him some more another day," answered Meg; "but if you would rather keep this till he wakes, see, I have brought something for you."
She unfolded a piece of paper with two thick slices of bread-and-butter, which Cherry took in her hands with a look of gratitude which went to Meg's heart.
"Oh, you are good!" the girl exclaimed, throwing her arms round Meg; "nobody was ever so good to us before—since mother went. He's always callin' for mother."