“Oh!” he breathed out, with a sort of gasp, again.
He evidently did not know how to express himself. His hands trembled, and he looked half frightened.
“If you’ll do it,” he said, “I’ll remember you all my life! I’ll—I’ll—if it wasn’t for father I know mother would let you sleep here every night for nothing. And I’d give you my bed and be glad to do it, I would. I’ll be so thankful to you. I hain’t got nothin’—nothin’—but I’ll be that thankful—I”—there was a kind of hysterical break in his voice—“let me go and tell mother,” he said, and he got up stumblingly and rushed into the house.
Meg and Robin followed him to the kitchen, as excited as he was. The woman had just put a cracked bowl of something hot on the table, and as he came in she spoke to him.
“TO—TO—THE FAIR?” HE SAID, TREMULOUSLY.
“Your mush is ready,” she said. “Come and eat while it’s hot.”
“Mother,” he cried out, “they are going to take me in. I’m going! They’re going to take me!”
The woman stopped short and looked at the twins, who stood in the doorway. It seemed as if her chin rather trembled.
“You’re going—” she began, and broke off. “You’re as poor as he is,” she ended. “You must be, or you wouldn’t have come here to room.”