"I don't want anything to eat, my dear," was the reply, "but I could enjoy a cup of tea."
"And you shall have it!" the little girl declared.
"But you've no hot water—"
"I can easily get some from Mrs. M'Cosh; she's sure to have her kettle boiling, for she always cooks a supper for her husband, I don't mind asking her a favour at all."
Having measured the tea into a brown earthenware teapot, Felicia nodded encouragingly to her mother and left the attic, proceeding downstairs to the second floor, where she rapped gently upon a closed door with her knuckles.
"Come in," said a deep, gruff voice, which sounded like a man's, but was, in reality, a woman's. Felicia opened the door and entered the room—a comfortably furnished kitchen-sitting-room it was. Before the fireplace stood Mrs. M'Cosh, a tall, raw-boned woman, with a broad, red face, which usually wore a somewhat grim expression. A woman of few words was Mrs. M'Cosh, but those words were generally much to the point. She was frying liver and bacon for her husband's supper, giving her best attention to the work in hand.
"Please, Mrs. M'Cosh," said Felicia, "could you oblige me with a little boiling water? Mother fancies a cup of tea to-night."
"Help yourself, child," was the response; "but, first, put your teapot on the stove to warm."
Felicia did so, whilst she watched Mrs. M'Cosh turn the liver in the pan. How delicious it smelt! Poor Felicia, she had had nothing to eat but bread thinly spread with butter that day.
"Mother better?" inquired Mrs. M'Cosh, glancing furtively at her visitor.