David's expression changed. 'Then nex time she wants owt, she can fetch it fro Clough End hersel,' he said violently, and went out.
Hannah came forward and laid eager hands on the letter, which was from London, addressed in a clerk's hand.
'Louie!' she called imperatively, 'tak un out soom bread-an-drippin.'
Louie put some on a plate, and went out with it to the cowhouse, where David sat on a stool, occupying himself in cutting the pages of a number of the Vegetarian News, lent him in Clough End, with trembling hands, while a fierce red spot burnt in either cheek.
'Tak it away!' he said, almost knocking the plate out of Louie's hands; 'it chokes me to eat a crumb o' hers.'
As Louie was bearing the plate back through the yard, Uncle Reuben came by.' What's—what's 'at?' he said, peering shortsightedly at what she held. Every month of late Reuben's back had seemed to grow rounder, his sight less, and his wits of less practical use.
'Summat for David,' said Louie, shortly, ''cos Aunt Hannah woan't gie him no dinner. But he woan't ha it.'
Reuben's sudden look of trouble was unmistakable. 'Whar is he?'
'I' th' coo-house.'
Reuben went his way, and found the dinnerless boy deep, or apparently deep, in recipes for vegetable soups.