“Well, not to say read, marm. I think I could make out a word now and then.”
“Do you want to?”
The face brightened a moment, and, with the curving lips and eager eyes, was really that of a pretty boy.
“Oh, if I could!” half sighed the quivering lips; and then the smile went out, and left blank despair behind it. “It’s no use, marm; she won’t let me.”
“Who won’t? Your mother?”
“No, Mag’s mother—old Meg. My mother’s dead, and I never had any father that ever I heard of; and since mother died old Meg does for me; and every day she sends me out to beg; and if I don’t get much she whips Mag.”
I was growing strangely interested.
“Whips Mag, because you don’t get much?” I said doubtfully. “What for?”
“I guess there’s a hard place on me, marm. She found that it didn’t seem to hurt much, when she whipped me; and so one night Mag was teasing her to stop, and she turned to and whipped Mag, and that made me cry awful; and ever since, if I don’t get enough money, she whips Mag.”