“Hungry!” exclaimed the woman fiercely, “I’ve tasted nothin’ at all since yesterday.”
“Poor thing!” said the Bible-nurse in a low tone; “come—come with me. I don’t say more. You cannot speak while you are famishing. Stay, first one word—” She paused and looked up. She did not kneel; she did not clasp her hands or shut her eyes, but, with one hand on the door-latch, and the other grasping the poor woman’s wrist, she prayed—
“God bless and comfort poor Mrs Frog, for Jesus’ sake.”
Then she hurried, without uttering a word, to the Institution in George Yard. The door happened to be open, and the figure of a man with white hair and a kind face was seen within.
Entering, the Bible-nurse whispered to this man. Another moment and Mrs Frog was seated at a long deal table with a comfortable fire at her back, a basin of warm soup, and a lump of loaf bread before her. The Bible-nurse sat by and looked on.
“Somebody cares a little, don’t you think?” she whispered, when the starving woman made a brief pause for breath.
“Yes, thank God,” answered Mrs Frog, returning to the meal as though she feared that some one might still snatch it from her thin lips before she got it all down.
When it was finished the Bible-nurse led Mrs Frog into another room.
“You feel better—stronger?” she asked.
“Yes, much better—thank you, and quite able to go home.”