t her soup would taste just as good without the bone;
and Dick, when he really grasped the fact that the whole of the big
bone was really meant for him, soon showed her that no ham-bone in
the world had ever given more complete satisfaction.

"Could you eat an egg?"

Huldah stared blankly at her hostess. She could not at first realise
that the question was meant for her. "An egg! Me! Oh, yes, ma'am,
but I don't want anything so--so good as that." She could have eaten
anything, no matter how plain, or poor, or unappetizing. But an egg!
One of the greatest luxuries she had ever tasted. "A bit of dry
bread will be plenty good enough. Eggs cost a lot, and--and--"

"My hens lay eggs for me in plenty. I don't ever have to buy one,"
said the old woman, proudly. "I've got some fine hens."

"Do you keep a farm, ma'am?"

Mrs. Perry smiled and sighed. "No, child; a few hens don't make a
farm. I had a cow at one time, but all that's left is the house she
lived in. Now, draw over to the table and have your supper."

At any other time Huldah would have been shy of eating before a
stranger, for in the caravan good manners were only a subject for
sneers and laughter, and she remembered enough of her mother's
teaching to know how shocking to ordinary eyes Mr. and Mrs. Smith's
behaviour would have seemed. To-night, though, she was too
ravenously hungry for shyness to have much play. She tried to
remember all she could of what her mother had taught her, and got
through fairly creditably.

"Now," said Mrs. Perry, when that wonderful, glorious meal was at
last ended, "where did you think of going for the night?"

"I don't know," sighed Huldah, wistfully. "I hadn't thought of
anywhere perticler. I daresay there's a rick or a hedge we can lay
down under. I don't mind where I go, so long as Uncle Tom don't find
us."

"Well, I can't give you a bed here. I've only this room and my
bedroom, and--and--" Mrs. Perry did not like to explain that she was
too nervous, and too doubtful of Huldah's honesty to leave her alone
in the kitchen, while she herself went to bed and to sleep.
To her mind all gipsies, and all gipsy children, were thieves, and
though she was interested in Huldah, and felt very sorry for her, she
had, after all, only known her about an hour, and knew nothing of her
past history. In her heart she could not as yet believe all her
story, or bring herself to trust her.

The child instinctively felt some