"You mean—that you didn't have enough to eat—yourself?—for YOUR luncheon?"
"Sure!" smiled the boy. "But don't worry. Tisn't the first time—and 'twon't be the last. I'm used to it. Hi, there! here comes Sir Lancelot."
Pollyanna, however, was not thinking of squirrels.
"And wasn't there any more at home?"
"Oh, no, there's NEVER any left at home," laughed the boy. "You see, mumsey works out—stairs and washings—so she gets some of her feed in them places, and Jerry picks his up where he can, except nights and mornings; he gets it with us then—if we've got any."
Pollyanna looked still more shocked.
"But what do you do when you don't have anything to eat?"
"Go hungry, of course."
"But I never HEARD of anybody who didn't have ANYTHING to eat," gasped Pollyanna. "Of course father and I were poor, and we had to eat beans and fish balls when we wanted turkey. But we had SOMETHING. Why don't you tell folks—all these folks everywhere, that live in these houses?"
"What's the use?"