“No mistress, ’twas was not made for Grandsire, ’twas all we had left, but Nan said that if Ben wanted it he must have it and we go hungry. So she was vexed at the ronyon’s eating of it herself.”
“Oh! art hungry now?” The question escaped Joe’s lips before he had time to stop it.
The child looked up eagerly.
“Ay,” he said, his eyes straying to the remains of the food on the table. “Ay, will ye give me some?”
Joe immediately stretched his hand for the remnant of the loaf of bread and the child’s face brightened with expectation, but Mistress Pullen stepped forward.
“Mother of Saints! have I wedded a loon? Would ye have the household entirely bewitched, Joseph Pullen, that you’d feed a witch-child under our very roof?” she said, as she snatched the bread from his hand and replaced it on the table.
Joe looked sheepish and little Red began to cry again. Mistress Pullen reddened and sniffed fiercely.
“If he hungers he better go to his sister at the Ship,” she said tartly. “Heaven knows what with her Captain and her other men she ought to glean enough to look after her brother.”
Joe turned on his wife in honest indignation.
“Amy! how dare ye speak so of Hal Grame’s lass?” he said. “I’m not going to have my mate’s sweetheart spoke of so.”