Mrs. Walsh would much have preferred a small sum of money, but muttered her thanks, and dropped the loaf into a bag she had brought with her.
She went on to the next block, and intercepted a gentleman just starting down town to his business.
“I’m a poor widder,” she said, repeating her whine; “will you give me a few pennies? and may the Lord bless you!”
“Why don’t you work?” asked the gentleman, brusquely.
“I’m too old and feeble,” she answered, bending over to assume the appearance of infirmity. This did not escape the attention of the gentleman, who answered unceremoniously, “You’re a humbug! You won’t get anything from me! If I had my way, I’d have you arrested and locked up.”
Granny trembled with passion, but did not think it politic to give vent to her fury.
Her next application was more successful, twenty-five cents being sent to the door by a compassionate lady, who never doubted the story of the five little children suffering at home for want of food.
Granny’s eyes sparkled with joy as she hastily clutched the money. With it she could buy drink and tobacco, while food was not an object of barter.
“The missis wants to know where you live,” said the servant.
Mrs. Walsh gave a wrong address, not caring to receive charitable callers, who would inevitably find out that her story was a false one, and her children mythical.