“And you had no money to buy food with—had you?” inquired Cimon, as he softly patted the curly head.
“He said he would give me some money when I came back,” said the boy.
“Who said it?” asked Cimon.
“The man who sent me to see where you were going.”
“He did not think I was going into a baker’s shop to get you something to eat—did he? Come, sit right down here on this bench and eat this loaf and these cakes. Any more hungry ones at home?”
The boy at this began to sob, and at last broke into a perfect canter of sobs. He muttered something which Cimon had to bend low to make out.
“What, poor mother and little sister! Alas, alas—how sorry I am! But do you sit here and eat this; and when you have finished, the baker shall give you twice as much to carry home to your hungry mother and sister, for here is the money. If I could help, they should never be hungry again.”
I do not know what the baker thought of this way of treating the little beggar. But I know what the little beggar thought. He highly approved. He soon dried his tears in the presence of kind looks, kind words, and kinder food. What a glorious appetite that was! And while it was being satisfied, or at least gratified, our friend quietly went his way—unshadowed.