“Oh, mein boy, dere is not a store mithin a hundred miles avay, und if dere pe von I haf no money. I must fint de golt—I must fint it. If dere vos efen a telegraph-line—but how could I telegraph for somedings to eat? Vell, vait, Loney, till I bring de breat.”
This argument, so convincing to the old man, was not at all so to the child. But his docile mind made him rely upon the words of Mr. Goldberg like on the rising of the sun—a certainty.
The shoemaker went to the shack and soon returned with a quarter of a loaf of stale bread. He looked at it sadly, saying the while:
“Oh, my! oh, my! The bakers must be on a strike; eh, Loney? There isn’t much, und ve must divide it up into four parts, for dere must pe somedings for de Bennie und de Helen, if dey come back mitout anyding again.”
“I’m awful glad it is time to eat, for I am so hungry. This is the first bite we’ve had since yesterday.”
The little fellow’s eyes sparkled as he saw the bread, which most of us would have thrown aside as valueless, and waited with impatience for it to be divided. The shoemaker cut it into four pieces, picking up and eating the crumbs that broke off from the loaf as he cut it. He handed Loney his portion. As the child ate it ravenously, he shook his head sadly, saying:
“Yes, this is the last crumb before starvation!”
Loney had broken his bread into pieces, and as he left some of them on the rock by his side Morris broke his bread also into pieces, and put one piece to his lips, then took it away resolutely, and, pointing to a tree, said:
“Is dot a pirt on dat tree ofer dere?”
The child looked in the direction of the tree, while Morris slipped the piece of bread down beside the others on the rock.