“He’ll see his grandfather to-night sure, and all his ancestors,” said the sergeant grumblingly, as his eyes wandered over the tray, “if he eats all that. What are you thinking of, Bess,—rich plum-pudding and candy for a child this time of day.”
“I thought perhaps he would like to look at them,” said Mrs. Hardy; “and there are plenty of substantial things. See this corn bread and chicken, and these vegetables.”
“But he mayn’t pick them out.”
“Oh, yes, he will! he is a sensible boy at heart,” said Mrs. Hardy; and she fairly ran from the room and down the hall with the tray.
Eugene opened the door when she called to him, and at the sight of his pallid face she almost dropped the tray.
In silence he cleared the table for her to rest it on. In silence she put it down and gazed at him. At last she said nervously, “I thought you’d rather have your supper in here alone than to come to the table with us.”
“Thank you for your benevolence,” he said, inclining his head.
Mrs. Hardy twisted her face like a child about to cry. “Let me help you unpack your bag,” she said hastily. “The supper things won’t get cold for a few minutes.”
Eugene opened the bag, and she shook out the clothes as carefully as if they had belonged to a child of her own. Then she showed him some hooks behind a curtain where he could hang them. “And there is the bath-room,” she went on, opening the hall door. “Perhaps you will like to take a warm bath by and by. I will put some fresh towels in for you. Now I shall leave you alone, and not bother you until the morning. Good-night;” and she looked at him wistfully.