"We have walked."
"You don't say that you have trudged all the way with that youngster?"
The housekeeper drowned the reply by loudly announcing to the old gentleman that his supper was waiting—"We have no lodgings, my good woman," she said, turning away from the gate.
"Stop, Martha, stop," said the citizen. "Can't we direct them somewhere?—you see they are strangers. I wonder where they could get a lodging?"
"I am sure I don't know," replied Martha, peevishly; "your supper will be cold—come in!"
"We've had no supper," said the boy.
"Poor little fellow!" said the old gentleman; "then I am sure you shall not go without. Martha, the bread and cheese!" And, opening the garden-gate, he made the travelers enter and sit down in the summer-house, whilst he went to fetch them a draught of cider.
In spite of Martha's grumbling, he managed to get a substantial repast; but it grieved him that the woman, though she thanked him very gratefully and humbly, appeared unable to eat.
"Your boy eats heartily," said he, "but I am afraid you don't enjoy it."
With a choking utterance she thanked him, but could not eat.