“There isn’t more than a year’s difference between Mary and Peter here,” indicating the taller of the two little girls and the boy. “And Isabel is thirteen months younger than Peter. Mary is nine years old,” she added as a sort of afterthought.
“Nine years old!” cried Vi, in surprise. “Why, that would make Peter eight and the little girl seven. I thought they were much younger than that.”
“Yes,” added Laura, thoughtlessly, “they are very tiny for their age.”
As though the innocent words had been a deadly insult, the woman rose from her knees and shot the girls so black a glance from her dark eyes that they were frightened.
“My children are tiny—yes,” she said in a hard voice, repeating what Laura had said. “And no wonder they are small, when for years they have been half starved.”
Then she turned quickly and herded the three frightened little ones out of the room.
“You go to bed,” she said to them as they disappeared through the door.
Left to themselves, the girls looked blankly at one another.
“Billie, did you hear what I heard?” asked Laura, anxiously. “Did she really mean that the kiddies are so little because they don’t get enough to eat?”
“Sounds that way,” said Billie pityingly. “Poor little things!”