"Oh no, every now and then. See, I'm going to sprinkle in the oatmeal with my hand. If I put it in all at once it would fall into lumps, and children hate lumps! At least I did when I was a child."
Mrs. Blunt stood by watching.
"And how much do ye pay a pound for it, Mrs. Seymour?"
"Twopence-halfpenny where Jem gets it."
"What do ye eat it with? I've heard tell of treacle, but I'm no hand at sweet things myself."
"No, more am I," said Meg. "Of course the best thing is a little milk; I dare say half a pint would do; but you might give them their choice of sugar."
Mrs. Blunt sighed. She had spent nearly all she had left on the baker's loaves which went so fast, and she hardly knew where the milk and sugar were to come from.
Meg guessed that, from the change in the woman's face from bright interest to despondency.
She thought for a moment, and then she said with some little hesitation—
"I wonder if the children would think me interfering if I were to bring them a little milk and sugar as a present?"