d the satisfaction of seeing the whole hundred eating
heartily and enjoying a hot meal. My own soul was fed, too--for the
words came to me, `I was an hungered and ye gave me meat,' and one old
woman, sitting near me, said, `I have a long walk home, and have been
casting over in my mind all the afternoon whether I could spare a penny
for a cup of tea on the way. How good the Lord is to send this!'"

With large, round, glittering eyes and parted lips, and heightened
colour and varying expression, sat little Di Brandon at her father's
elbow, almost motionless, her little hands clasped tight, and uttering
never a word, but gazing intently at the speakers and drinking it all
in, while sorrow, surprise, sympathy, indignation, and intense pity
stirred her little heart to its very centre.

In the nursery she retailed it all over, with an eager face and rapid
commentary, to the sympathetic Mrs Screwbury, and finally, in bed,
presided over millions of old women who made up mountains of old
garments, devoured fields of buttered bread, and drank oceans of
steaming tea!

CHAPTER TWELVE.

SAMMY TWITTER'S FALL.

We must turn now to Samuel Twitter, senior. That genial old man was
busy one morning in the nursery, amusing little Mita, who had by that
time attained to what we may style the dawn-of-intelligence period of
life, and was what Mrs Loper, Mr Crackaby, and Mr Stickler called
"engaging."

"Mariar!" shouted Mr Twitter to his amiable spouse, who was finishing
her toilet in the adjoining room. "She's makin' faces at me--yes, she's
actually attempting to laugh!"

"The darling!" came from the next room, in emphatic tones.

"Mariar!"

"Well, dear."

"Is Sammy down in the parlour?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because he's not in his room--tumti-iddidy-too-too--you charming
thing!"

It must be understood that the latter part of this sentence had
reference to the baby, not to Mrs Twitter.

Having expended his affections and all his spare time on Mita,--who, to
do her justice, made faces enough at him to repay his attentions in
full,--Mr Twitter descended to the breakfast parlour and asked the
domestic if she had seen Sammy yet.

"No, sir, I hain't."

"Are you sure he's not in his room?"

"Well, no, sir, but I knocked twice and got no answer."

"Very odd; Sammy didn't use to be late, nor to sleep so soundly," said
Mr Twitter, ascending to the attic of his eldest son.

Obtaining no reply to his knock, he open