“Have to get two men to lift that in,” he said, “can’t shift a piano by myself; ten bob, please, mum.”
The lady seemed afraid of him, and hurriedly gave him his half-sovereign to get rid of him. He climbed [149] ]into his cart and went bumping off down the road again.
The forlorn little procession trailed slowly into the cottage and to the very room beneath the window of which the boys were crouching. The mother sat down on a packing-case, struggled to smile and say something cheerful, but found it impossible and burst into tears instead, and the three tired, dispirited little girls joined in heartily.
“Whatever’s up with them?” said Teddie, uneasily.
“They’re in black,” whispered Clif, “some one’s dead.”
“Come, Phyl, come, Dolly, this will never do,” said the mother, drying her eyes after a little time, “we must make the best of it, little daughters, and first of all we must get something to eat or we shall all be ill.”
The little girls mopped their eyes and looked round mournfully.
“What can we get?” Phyl said.
“There are some of the sandwiches left,” said Dolly, but there was no enthusiasm in her tone.
“There’s a little box of groceries at the top of this packing-case,” Mrs. Conway said; “I put it there ready for an emergency, so we shall have tea and sugar and butter, but I certainly don’t know what we shall do for milk and bread.”