“For the love of God, good sir, give me the price of a piece of bread.”
He turned sharply towards her. Her face was haggard and hunger-filled; her eyes were wells of despair. He slipped his finger and thumb into the fob of his coat. The first coin that came to his touch was a shilling. He dropped it into the emaciated, outstretched palm.
The wretched creature gazed at the coin, then at him. Her lips moved, but no words came from them. Her eyes filled with a rush of tears. He passed on. But the incident moved him strangely.
“If Christ,” he mused, “ever comes back to earth again, surely, surely He will deliver it from such want and misery as that!”
He paused and looked back at the woman. Her face was buried in her hands. Her form was shaking with sobs. Curiosity tempted him to go back.
As he came abreast of her, a child, a girl about nine, barefooted and tired-looking, was saying to the woman, “What’s the matter, missis? Wouldn’t that swell giv’ yer nuffink w’en yer arst ’im?”
“Give me nothing?” The woman glanced down at the child. “Why, he is kinder than Gawd, fur he give me a shilling!”
At this Tom Hammond hurried away.
“Kinder than God!” he murmured. “Oh, God, that we should have it in our power to buy such happiness for so small a sum!”