“Master Mercer came and told me, and asked me for something to eat for you, because he said he knew they’d only give you bread and water.”
“Master Mercer!” I muttered to myself angrily; “and I’m to suffer for him!”
“There, I won’t bother you, my dear, but I’m very sorry, and I don’t suppose it’s anything much. Have you broken a window?”
“No, Cook.”
“Now don’t say you’ve been stealing apples, because I’d have given you lots if you’d asked.”
“No,” I said softly, for the woman’s voice sounded so pleasant and sympathetic that I wanted her to stay.
“Then I know: you’ve been breaking bounds. Oh dear, boys will be boys, and it’s quite natural, my dear, for you to want to get away, and run where you like. I don’t wonder, shut up as you all are, like being in a cage. There, don’t you fret, and it’ll all come right. I’ll see that you have something beside bread and water. Bread and water, indeed! Such stuff as is only to cook with. Why, they might just as well feed you on flour.”
“What time is it, Cook?” I asked.
“Just gone six, my dear; and there: I mustn’t stop gossiping, for I’ve my fire to light, my kitchen to do; but I hate people to be miserable. I can’t abide it. There’s plenty of worries with one’s work, as I told missus only yesterday. There, good-bye, and don’t you fret.”
I heard the rustling of her dress as she went along the passage, and I stood by the door till it died away, feeling sad but pleased, for it was satisfactory to know that there were people about the place who cared for me. But I felt more low-spirited directly as I thought of what she might say as soon as she knew the real cause of why I was a prisoner.