"I have some bread here that I want you to help me give out to these poor people, and then some milk. But serve the women first," she added, as she filled his hands with huge slices of brown bread, and followed him with a basket filled with similar pieces.
"No scrambling, now," she said in a commanding tone, as a dozen hands were held out, and as many voices cried, "Give me a bit."
As she had surmised, Eric could slip in and out among the crowd quicker and better than she could, so that all were soon served with something like a meal; and when the last piece of bread was given out, she led the way to where a couple of cans, holding several gallons of milk, stood covered with a sack.
It required more care to serve out the tin pannikins of milk to each, but upon the whole, they were an orderly crowd, not more greedy than hungry men and women generally are; and when all had been served, she took Eric away and gave him a meal by himself, and as he ate, he told her something of his life in Summerleigh, and the cruel, narrow prejudice that had driven him away from the place.
"Where did you live before you went to this village?" asked the Methodist sister. "Had your mother no friends who could help you when she died?"
"I think we lived in London, but mother was ill there, and so we moved into the country, that she might get better. She did for a little while, and we were very happy, oh, so happy, until she told me one day that she would have to go away and leave me; but I must wait there until God sent somebody—some messenger to help me. I thought at first an angel would come and bring me what I wanted, or perhaps some of the birds out of the forest might bring me food, like the ravens took it to Elijah, but after a long time the landlord of The Magpie came and asked me to go and be stable boy at the inn, and I lived there nearly a year."
"And he was kind to you?" asked the woman.
"Oh yes, very kind; he would not care what people said about mother being a witch or a Methodist; he always took care that I had enough to eat, and plenty of clean hay to sleep in, and I could manage the rest for myself; only I was often puzzled to know whether I had done right—whether he was the messenger of God. Mother had not thought of him, I am sure, when she spoke to me about it."
"Perhaps not, but doubtless she had prayed to God to send help to you by one of His servants, but she left the choice of this servant to God Himself, knowing that He would choose more wisely than she could."
"Then you think the master of The Magpie was God's servant?" said Eric, with something like relief in his tone.