The child stole into the kitchen with hanging head and sat down at the table spread for two. He was very much ashamed of himself in the stormy light of Barbara’s gray eyes; but Mr. Morrison’s remarks concerning the Maker of the universe appeared worthy of passing on. He fortified himself with a large slice of brown bread and butter, thickly overlaid with apple-sauce.
“It couldn’t have been very ’portant, Barb’ra,” he said blandly.
The girl faced about in the act of taking two boiled potatoes out of a saucepan.
“But it was, Jimmy. I know that much, and I can’t read it.”
“Peg says there’s Somebody a-lookin’ out for things, an’ He made that letter fall out o’ my pocket.”
“Peg,” interrupted Barbara wrathfully, “knows nothing about it.”
“‘N’ He let it rain, too,” pursued Jimmy determinedly. “‘N’ He let the ink run, ’n’ the mud get on it. Do you want me to tell you who it was? Do you, Barb’ra?”
“Well, who do you suppose it was?”
“God!” exploded the child dramatically. “Peg said——”
“I don’t want to hear what Peg said. He doesn’t know.”