"You'll not have to go without your supper, Fred," said his mother, coming in at that moment. "I have a nice meal for you."
"That's good. I have a fine appetite."
"I'm glad of it. Mrs. Robinson paid me more for the sewing than I expected, and I got a little treat for you. I made some tapioca pudding. We haven't had any in a long time."
"That's so, mother, but I can get along without it."
"You'll not have to, to-night."
Mr. Stanley's face flushed. He keenly felt the position he was in—that of a man unable to support himself, much less his family. If only his lameness would leave him! For there was no work for a lame man in Piddock.
During the meal Fred was so busy thinking that several times his mother had to ask him the same question twice. When this occurred, after she had asked him if he was ready for the pudding, a dish of which he was very fond, she exclaimed:
"Well, Fred! Something must be the matter. You are not ill; are you?"
"No, mother."
"Then of what are you thinking?"