child nodded.
“How many?”
“Five.”
The woman thought it over.
“Left just one for herself,” she said in a low voice. “And she could have eaten the whole six—I saw it in her eyes.”
She looked after the little draggled far-away figure and felt more disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a day.
“I wish she hadn’t gone so quick,” she said. “I’m blest if she shouldn’t have had a dozen.” Then she turned to the child.
“Are you hungry yet?” she said.
“I’m allus hungry,”
she realized that if her wretchedness had not made her forget things, she would have known that poor, dull Ermengarde was not to be blamed for her unready, awkward ways. She was always awkward, and the more she felt, the more stupid she was given to being.
But the sudden thought which had flashed upon