"Can I have a little piece of it?" she asked timidly; "I haven't had any breakfast."
Mildred's eyes opened wide.
"Haven't had any breakfast, and nearly lunch time! Are you going to wait till luncheon?"
"'Luncheon?' What's that?" said Molly. "I get dinner generally; but I am afraid I mayn't get any to-day. Mrs. O'Meath is drunk."
She spoke of it as if it were a matter of course. Mildred's face was a study. The idea of such a thing as not getting enough to eat had never crossed her mind. She could not take it in.
"Here, take this; eat all of it. I will get my mother to send you some dinner right away, and every day." She took hold of Molly's thin hand and stroked it in a caressing, motherly sort of way. "What is your name?" She leaned over her and stroked her little dry brow, as her mother did hers when she had a headache.
"Molly."
"Molly what?"
"I don't believe I've got any other name," said Molly. "My mother was named Mary."
"Where is she?" asked Mildred.