“Haven’t you got any cold chicken?” she asked, rather dissatisfied.
“She’s got cheek,” thought Tom.
“If you’re not satisfied with what you’ve got, you needn’t come again.”
“Yes,” said granny, “I’m satisfied; but my little girl is sick, and can’t bear anything but chicken, or maybe turkey.”
“Then you must ask for it somewhere else,” said the servant. “We haven’t got any for you here.”
Having obtained all she was likely to get, granny prepared to go.
Tom felt that she, too, must start, for there might be danger of identification. To be sure she was now well-dressed,—quite as well as the average of girls of her age. The cap and jacket, indeed all that had made her old name of “Tattered Tom” appropriate, had disappeared, and she was very different in appearance from the young Arab whom we became acquainted with in the first chapter. In other respects, as we know, Tom had not altered quite so much. There was considerable of the Arab about her still, though there was a prospect of her eventually becoming entirely tamed.
Granny just glanced at the young girl, whose back only was visible to her, but never thought of identifying her with her lost grand-daughter. Sometimes, however, she had obtained money from compassionate school-girls, and it struck her that there might be a chance in this quarter.
She advanced, and tapped Tom on the shoulder.
“Little gal,” she dolefully said, “I’m a poor widder with five small children. Can’t you give me a few pennies? and may the Lord reward you!”