"He's your Father, then, I suppose," said Elfie.
"Yes, and yours too," said Susie quickly.
"No, he ain't; I don't know him," said Elfie, shaking her head with a little sigh.
"But he knows you, Elfie—knows you, and loves you, and wants you to love him."
But Elfie shook her head persistently. "I don't know nothing about him, and nobody ever loved me," she' said.
And to end the conversation, she ran away to finish her game of buttons, while Susie walked quietly home.
She ate a slice of dry bread for her dinner, and saved one for Elfie; and then took her mother's Bible out of the little box, and sat down to read a chapter just as she used to do before her mother died. But the sight of the familiar old book upset all her firmness, and she sat down with it in her lap, and burst into tears. She was still crying when Elfie came rushing in to ask if she would not come out and join their play.
"What's the matter?" she exclaimed when she saw Susie in tears. "Are you so hungry?" she asked—for hunger seemed the only thing worth crying for to Elfie; and then, seeing the slice of bread on the table, and guessing it had been left for her, she put it on the Bible, saying, "You eat it, Susie; I've had some cold potatoes, and I ain't very hungry now."
But Susie put it back into her hands. "No, no, Elfie; you must eat that," she said. "I'm not crying because I'm hungry."
"What is it then?" said Elfie.