Then he asked:
"May I order something for you here?"
I was hungry, and was glad for the open way he had found for me, and said, "Yes," handing him twenty-five cents. It was all I could afford to pay for dinner, but as I looked at the tray when it was brought to me, I thought, "How cheap things must be in New York," for there were soup and fish—a kind of yellow fish I had never seen before, salmon, I afterward learned it was—stewed with green peas, a bird, asparagus, potatoes, ice-cream, a cup of coffee and a glass of sherry.
Upon his insisting that it would be restful to the baby, I let him hold little George while I ate my dinner. I had not known how hungry I was, nor how much I was in need of nourishment. Baby immediately became quiet in his arms. Whether it was due to the change or not, I do not know, but in a little while he was fast asleep. I covered him up with the shawl to which the gentleman pointed, finished eating my delicious dinner, taking my time and enjoying it, while he read his book and held my baby. When the servant came and took away the tray, I arose and, thanking the stranger for his kindness, said:
"I will take the baby now, if you please."
"If you would rather," he said, "yes, but I think he will be more comfortable with me for awhile. Then, too, you might waken him if you moved him. Let me hold him while you rest. Here is a sweet little book, if you would like to read it. I think, however, it would be better for you to rest; to sleep, if you could. You look really fagged out."
The book he gave me was a child's book—it may have been "Fern Leaves." I can't remember the name, but pasted in the book was a letter written in a child's irregular hand:
For my dear darly popsy who is gon to fite the war fum his little darly dorter little mary
Dear popsy don kill the por yangees and don let the yangees kill you my poor popsy little mary
Dear popsy com back soon to me an mama an grandad thats all. I says your prayers popsy evry day fum little mary