“Bread! O dear me, well, I wouldn’t cry about that,” said Miranda.
“I’m not crying,” declared Joel, passionately.
“And was that all?”
“No, there was a potato and nice, nice salt.”
At this, Joel, remembering how he had seen Polly put it up, and how very hungry he was at this present moment, turned away and began to sob, trying to keep it all back, so that Miss Miranda shouldn’t see.
“There, I wouldn’t feel bad, Joel,” she said, not unkindly; “I’ll give you some dinner. I s’pose Jim Potts’s dog eat it up.”
All the sorrow went out of Joel’s face, and he whirled about, dashing off the tears from his black eyes. “I’ll punch him for that,” he said.
“No, you won’t, either,” said Miranda, and picking his sleeve again. “You let that Jim Potts alone, Joel Pepper. He’s a bad boy, an’ as for that poor dog o’ his, he’s hungrier ’n you be. Come along, an’ I’ll give you some dinner.”
And presently Joel was seated before a plate on which were scraps of cold corned beef, very red and stringy, it is true, but tasting perfectly delicious, and a little pile of cold cabbage and potatoes. He wasn’t in the kitchen, it is true, because neither Mrs. Peters nor Miranda thought it the least desirable that Mr. Peters should meet him. But in the wash-shed, back of the big tubs, he sat on a little stool, and ate away with only one thought—“Oh, how good it was! And wouldn’t it be prime if they could ever have such splendid things at the Little Brown House for dinner!”
“We must give him something to eat before we clean him up, Ma,” Miranda had whispered out in the kitchen, after closing the wash-shed door, “for he’s half starved. My, what will Mrs. Pepper say, an’ how could Pa git us in such a scrape!”