Agnes was doubtful of the truth of this. The dark girl did not look ill-fed. But she had an appearance of need just the same; and it was a rule of the Corner House household never to turn a hungry person away.
“Stay there on the mat,” Agnes finally said. “Don’t come in. I will see what I can find for you.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said the girl.
“Haven’t you had any breakfast?” asked Agnes, moving toward the pantry, and her sympathies becoming excited.
“No, Ma’am. And no supper last night. Nobody give me nothing.”
“Well,” said Agnes, with more warmth, expanding to this tale of woe, as was natural, “I will see what I can find.”
She found a plate heaped with bread and meat and a wedge of cake, which she brought to the screen door. The girl had stood there motionless, only her black eyes roved about the kitchen and seemed to mark everything in it.
“Sit down there on the steps and eat it,” said Agnes, passing the plate through a narrow opening, as she might have handed food into the cage of an animal at a menagerie. She really was half afraid of the girl just because she looked so much like a Gypsy.
The stranger ate as though she was quite as ravenously hungry as she had claimed to be. There could be no doubt that the food disappeared with remarkable celerity. She sat for a moment or two after she had eaten the last crumb with the plate in her lap. Then she rose and brought it timidly to the door.
“Did you have enough?” asked Agnes, feeling less afraid now.