CHAPTER II.
SIXTEEN YEARS LATER.
“Sister Jessie, I am so hungry. Please give me some bread!” sobbed the pleading voice of a little child, clinging to the skirts of the young house mother, a dark-eyed girl of sixteen.
“I’se hungry, too. I want my bekfus!” sobbed a still younger child, petulantly, and for answer Jessie stooped down and gathered both the little boys into her yearning arms, crying tremulously:
“Wait a little while, my darlings, and sister Jessie will go and try to get you some bread!”
Oh! what a tale of wretchedness was told by the bare, fireless room and the pinched faces and hollow eyes of the three children, the girl of sixteen, the boys of six and four, respectively. It was midday, but they had not tasted food for twenty-four hours, and the cupboard was empty of the smallest crust. It was a chilly November day, but the small stove was fireless, though their thin, ragged garments were insufficient to keep out the biting cold.
Jessie kissed the wan, tear-wet faces of her hungry little brothers, then stood up again and looked round the room to see if there was anything left worthy the attention of the old pawnbroker on the corner.
A choking sob escaped the girl’s lips:
“Alas, there is nothing but trash! The little purse is empty, and the rent unpaid for two months. What shall we do?”
A loud rap on the door gave her a violent start, and she sprang to open it, exclaiming piteously:
“They have come again for the rent!”