“‘Dear Roswald! what made you do so?’
“‘Do how?’
“‘Why,—do so. You shouldn’t. It was too good of you.’
“Roswald gave a merry little bit of a laugh, and began to take off the covers and put them on the counter.
“‘Come, Sue,—look up; I want my porridge, and I am waiting for you. Where shall I get a knife and fork?—in the pantry in the back room?’
“Sue jumped up, wiping away her tears, and run for the knife and fork; and from that time, throughout the rest of the meal, her face was a constant region of smiles.
“‘A roast chicken!—Oh, Roswald!—How mother will like a piece of that! How good it smells!’
“‘She’s had her dinner,’ said Roswald, who was carving: ‘you must take a piece of it first. I ought in conscience to have had a separate dish for the potatoes, but my market-basket was resolved not to take it. Some salt, Sue?’
“Sue ran for another knife and fork, and then began upon her piece of chicken; and Roswald helped himself out of his dish and eat, glancing over now and then at her.