"Never be that, Peggy, unless you have done wrong. What does the man look like?"
"A traveller; he's brown and funny-looking."
"For the sake of my son, we must be kind to all that sort; but perhaps he can tell me about Tom."
At that moment the man spoke: "Can you give me a night's lodging, madam?"
Granny stood for a moment as if she had become a statue—fixed, immovable. Then with a cry she rushed at the man, and put her trembling fingers on his head and face and hands. Then she fell sobbing on his shoulder, for Tom had come back, her dear son Tom, whom she had so long supposed to be drowned.
And then came a long tale of suffering and shipwreck and privation. Granny in her turn had to tell how she had lost her sight. And then Tom kissed Peggy, whom he had left as a baby, and promised never again to leave her.
Ah, it was a happy time—and how Peggy did enjoy the oranges!—great juicy globes of nectar.
After that there was no more hunger. The cottage looked like a little bower, with its blooming plants, its warm curtains, and its cheerful blaze on the hearth. Peggy had white bread enough and to spare. Her father brought her home a canary and a parrot; the latter she taught to say "Think and Thank," and every time she remembered her thought of making broth of old pussy, she gave her an extra bowl of milk thick with cream.
It may not be generally known that the custom of a weekly dole of bread is still observed in Trinity parish, New York. Sixty-seven loaves of bread are given to the poor every Saturday at St. John's Chapel. A bequest for this purpose was made thirty years ago by John Leake, Esq.