Meg smiled.
"I hope not," she said gently; "but you know I have not got a lot of children to feed and see to. I should have no excuse now."
Just as she was turning to the door she thought of something.
"I wonder if you ever make oatmeal porridge for your children?" she asked.
The woman made a wry face.
"Law, my dear, they wouldn't touch it!"
"I think they would if it were made nicely."
"I'm sure you've been so kind and clever, that I ought to think of what you say," apologized the woman; "but I'm afraid—"
"What have you for dinner to-day, if I may ask?" said Meg, hesitating, in her shy way.
"Bread," answered the mother emphatically; "and I meant to pour some boiling water on it, and put some salt, and make believe it was soup. It's so bitter cold to-day."