“Yes, lots. Now hide it in your basket, and go.”
“To be sure I will, Liza.” And the white napkin and its contents were soon hidden under a piece of fishing-net. “There, goodbye, my dear. You’ll be glad you’ve helped your poor old mother, that you will, and—Good mornin’, Miss Margreet.”
“Put that basket down,” said the old lady sharply, as she stood gazing imperiously at the detected pair.
“Put the basket down, miss?”
“Yes, directly. I am glad I came down and caught you in the act. Shameful! Disgraceful! Liza, take out that parcel of food stolen from my brother.”
“No, no, Miss Margreet, only broken wittles, as would be thrown away.”
“Quick! Take it out, Liza. Now go.”
Liza stooped down, sobbing, and pulled the bundle out of the basket.
“I always said you’d be the ruin of me, mother,” she sobbed.
“No, no, my dear,” cried the woman; “Miss Margreet won’t be hard on us. Let me have it, miss, do, please.”