“Might I, marm,” asked the stranger, pleasantly, “put this slice of ham and cake and this cup of milk aside, to eat bymeby?”
“How many meals do you eat in a evening?” growled Silas, awestruck at such an appetite; “an’ I want you to know this ain’t no tavern.”
“Do eat a bite yourself, marm,” said the stranger, as Maria carried the filled plate to the cupboard. The impudence of a tramp actually asking the mistress of the house to eat her own food, thought Silas. “We’ve eat our supper,” he hurled at the stranger.
“I couldn’t tech a mite,” said Maria, beginning to clear up, and as he was through eating, the stranger gallantly helped her while Silas smoked in speechless rage.
“I’m used to being handy,” explained the tramp. “I allus helped wife. She’s bin dead these twenty years, leaving me a baby girl that I brought up.”
“You was good to her?” asked Maria wistfully; the stranger had such a kind voice and gentle ways.
“I done the best I could, marm.”
Doubting his senses, Silas saw Maria bring out the haircloth rocking-chair with the bead tidy from the best front room.
“Lemme carry it,” said the tramp politely. “Now set in’t yerself, marm, an’ be comfurble.” He took a wooden chair, tilted it back and picked up the cat. Maria, before she sat down, unmindful of Silas’s bewildered stare, filled one of his pipes with his tobacco.
“I know you smoke, mister,” she smiled.