“Oh yes, ma’am. But I’ve—”
She was going to say, “I’ve eaten it,” but gran’father had so earnestly impressed on her mind the sinfulness of telling lies, that she felt constrained to hesitate, and, with a trembling lip, finished by saying she had eaten some of it.
“And what has become of the rest, dear?”
“Please, miss, she’ve putt it in ’er pocket,” said “Imperence” promptly.
Without noticing the remark, Matty moved so as to make herself an effectual screen between Imperence and Martha.
“Tell me, dear child,” she said, stooping low and putting a gentle hand on Martha’s shoulder, “are you not hungry?”
“Oh yes,” answered the little one quickly; “I’m so ’ungry. You can’t think ’ow ’ungry; but I promised to—to—”
At this point her lip quivered, and she began to cry quietly.
“Stay, don’t tell me anything more about it, dear, till you have breakfasted. Here, eat this before you say another word.”
She took a roll from the basket of a passing “worker” and put it in the child’s hand. Nothing loth, Martha began to eat and drink, mingling a warm tear or two with the hot soup, and venting a sob now and then as she proceeded.