"There's no offence, sir," she said quietly, but I saw that she was trying hard to stay the trembling of her lips.
"Yes, sir, I've five, and—and—there's been no food in the house since yesterday."
"Yet you never asked help for yourself!" I said, gentle reproach perhaps in my voice, but wonder and reverence at my heart. "You are a brave woman, a true woman, and I honour and respect you. But, for the children's sake, you mustn't refuse, if I ask you to let me try to be of some little help while the hard time lasts."
She was sobbing piteously now—more, I suspect, because she was faint and weak and in want of food than for any other reason.
"I'm sure I've—I've—I've tried hard to get some work, and so's Joe."
Then she pulled herself together.
"Will you come in, sir?"
Uncovering, I followed her into the wall-bare room. I say wall-bare advisedly, for, except for an old box in the corner, every stick of furniture had, as I discovered, been pawned or sold for food. Yet here seven of my fellow-creatures, made in the image of God, were herded together, within the space of a few square feet.
A wan, ragged, and unkempt man was sitting on the upturned box, his elbows on his knees, his hands thrust in the hair that was bushed over his ears.
He leapt up morosely, savagely, at my entrance, and muttered something about "More —— spies!"