. The
dawgs shan't touch yer. Come into the house, and I'll give yer what
supper's going, and the babe, pretty crittur, shall have a drink of
milk."

"I would not injure the baby," said Flower. She held both arms firm
round it, and entered the smoky, dismal hut.

The wife of Micah Jones moved a stool in front of the fire, pushed
Flower rather roughly down on it, and then proceeded to cut thick
hunches of sour bread and cheese. This was quite the coarsest food
Flower had ever eaten, and yet she never thought anything more
delicious. While she ate the woman sat down opposite her.

"I'll take the babe now and feed it," she said. "The pretty dear must be
hungry."

It was not little Pearl's way to cry. It was her fashion to look
tranquilly into all faces, and to take calmly every event, whether
adverse or otherwise. When she looked at Flower she smiled, and she
smiled again into the face of the rough woman who, in consequence, fed
her tenderly with the best she had to give.

"Is the soup done?" said the rough man, suddenly coming forward. "It's
soup I'm arter. It's soup as'll put life into Miss, and give her a mind
to walk them miles to the nearest town."

The woman laughed back at her son.

"The soup's in the pot," she said. "You can give it a stir, Pat, if you
will. Nathaniel will be in by-and-by, and he'll want his share. But you
can take a bowl now, if you like, and give one to Missy."

"Ay," said the man, "soup's good; puts life into a body."

He fetched two little yellow bowls filled one for Flower, stirring it
first with a pewter spoon.

"This'll put life into you, Miss," he said.

He handed the bowl of soup to the young girl. All this time the woman
was bending over the baby. Suddenly she raised her head.

"'Tis a bonny babe," she said. "Ef I was you, Pat, I wouldn't stir
Missy's soup. I'd give her your own bowl. I has no quarrel with Miss,
and the babe is fair. Give her your own soup, Patrick."

"It's all right, mother, Miss wouldn't eat as much as in my bowl. You
ain't 'ungry enough for that, be you, Miss?"

"I am very hungry," said Flower, who was gratefully drinking the hot
liquid. "I could not touch this food if I was not _very_ hungry. If I
want more soup I suppose I can have some more from the pot where this
was taken. What is the matter, woman? What are you staring at me for?"

"I think nought at all of you," said the woman, frowning, and drawing
back, for Flower's tone was very rude. "But