They had passed off the moor and were now come among inhabited houses again. They were just passing a little cottage which stood with its end to the road, as a little boy came out of the gate with a great bowl of porridge and milk in his hand. "Snap! Snap!" he cried, and looked up and down the road. A small terrier pricked its ears briskly over a wall and then leaped down upon the road. "Here, Snap!" cried the boy. Snap came slowly walking down the dusty highway. He smelled at the dish of porridge and milk. Then he sniffed loudly upon the nose of contempt. For he had just been dining richly in the outhouse on a rat which he had killed himself. Vara's eyes blazed at the sight of the porridge and milk. "O, gie that to the baby!" she cried, her eyes fairly sparkling fire. "Gie that to wee Gavin. The dog doesna want it!" The little boy ran back into the house, crying out at the top of his voice, "O, mither, mither, here's a lassie wants to gie our Snap's porridge to a babby!" A kindly-faced, apple-cheeked country woman came to the door of the cottage. She had been baking cakes, and she dusted the oatmeal off her hands as she stood there. "Can I get the dog's porridge for the bairns? He doesna want them. 'Deed he doesna!" cried Vara, beseechingly. "Of course, lassie, ye can hae the porridge, and welcome!" said the woman, doubtfully. "O, thank ye, mem, thank ye!" cried Vara, pouncing instantly on the porridge, lest the permission should be withdrawn. In a minute she had put most of the milk into the babe's bottle and the rest into the hands of Boy Hugh, who fell upon the porridge unceremoniously with his fingers. Vara smiled as she looked. She was hungrier than either—but happy. The woman stood watching the wolfish eagerness of the younger children at the sight of food with a strange look on her face. Her lip tightened and her eyes grew sterner. Suddenly Vara glanced up at her with frank blue Irish eyes, brightened by hunger and suffering. They looked through and through the woman at the door. "Mither," said the boy, "they're eatin' up a' our Snap's porridge, and there will no be a drap left——" The woman turned on him with a kind of gladness. "Hold your tongue!" she said, with quite unnecessary vehemence. And she slapped her son smartly for no particular reason. The tears were running down her cheeks. She almost dragged the children into the house. Then and there she spread such a breakfast for them as Vara had been seeing in her dreams ever since she grew hungry. It seemed that Gavin grew visibly plumper before her very eyes, with the milk which he absorbed as a sponge takes up water. And there appeared to be no finality to Boy Hugh's appetite. He could always find room for just another scone, spread with fresh butter and overlaid with cool apple-jelly such as Vara had never in her life partaken of. Vara herself was almost too happy to eat. But the kind woman pressed her and would not let her leave the table.