"I wonder if you'd be offended if I offered to make some porridge for you?"
"I shan't be offended; but I know they won't touch it!"
Meg laughed.
"You see!" she said brightly. "Tell them a friend brought them some, and you give them their choice of that or bread, and I expect—"
"I haven't any oatmeal," said the woman.
"But I have; I'll go and fetch some. My husband has it every day for breakfast."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed the woman.
"But I must make my bread first, for if I don't it will not have time to rise. When I have done that I'll bring the oatmeal down with me, and make it for them. Will you let me?"
The woman thanked her; but before Meg went up to her bread she requested that a saucepan of water might be put over the fire instead of the kettle, which the woman had already put on for the early dinner.
"Will you mind measuring the water into it?" asked Meg; "eight half-pints is what I want, and a good teaspoonful of salt."