Thus checked, I did not press for further information as to brother Mason's vocation, but proceeded to satisfy my hunger, which was not diminished by the unappetizing appearance of the food on the barrel.
It was a matter of great surprise to me to see how little Henrietta ate, and I was likewise ashamed of my own voracious appetite. Henrietta noticed this and frowned ominously.
"God! but you do eat!" she commented frankly, poising her knife in air.
"I'm hungry. I've worked hard to-day," I replied with dignity.
"Maybe you won't eat so much, though, after a while," she said hopefully.
"Maybe not," I agreed. "But you, Henrietta—you are not eating anything!"
"Me? Oh, I'm all right. I'm eating as much as I ever do. The works takes away my hunger. If it didn't, I don't know how I'd get along. If I eat as much as you, I'd be likely to starve to death. I couldn't make enough to feed me. When I first begun to work in the factory I'd eat three or four pieces of bread across the loaf, and potatoes and meat, and be hungry for things besides; but after a while you get used to being hungry for so long, you couldn't eat if you had it to eat."
"How long have you been working?" I ventured.
Henrietta put her cup on the table and shot a suspicious glance at me before she answered:
"Oh, off and on, and for five or six years, ever since my uncle died. He was my guardian—that's his house up there."