“Come back: what’s to come of what ye’ choose to lave on yer plate? Do you mean that I don’t give Peter enough? He wouldn’t think it worth his while to ask for all you’d eat in a month. Why ye’ve left the best cut of the silver side!—the daintiness of some boys! I’ll go bail ye’ve eat yer own weight of pudding or hard-bake while ye’ were out; but as master said, ‘Give him his dinner,’ I’v no notion of yer not eating it; so, put it up in paper, and let me see the last of ye’ this blessed day.” Richard thanked her so warmly, that she knew, with instinctive feeling, there was some one at home he loved better than himself. Her heart softened—or rather, her mood changed. But while she paused, Richard thought, and held the piece of meat on the paper she had given him, without folding it up. “I’d rather not take it, thank you,” said the boy, gently. “I’d much rather not take it.” “Poor and proud—poor and proud,” muttered Matty; “but ye’ _shall_ take it. I’m not to be contradicted by the likes of you.” “I will not take it,” he said, firmly. “Master ordered me my dinner, but did not say I was to take away any thing; and, as it is his—not yours—So, thank you—all—” He dared not finish the sentence: Matty struck down the knuckles of both hands violently on the table, and advanced her strongly-marked face close to his: it was illumined by fierce anger, and her small, piercing, black eyes flashed fire. “Do ye’ mean to tell me, ye’ _waspeen_, that I’m a thief?” “No—no—no, indeed,” said Richard, backing out as fast as he could. Still the flaming face and flashing eyes followed him; but something arrested his progress—he could retreat no farther: it was the bookseller, who inquired what was the matter. Matty multiplied and exaggerated: the little “nagur” had as good as called her a thief. After many fruitless exertions to obtain silence, the master at last succeeded in hearing the truth from Richard. “She gave me a beautiful dinner—a fine dinner, sir—too good—too much—and I could not eat it all; so she desired me to take up what I left, and carry it home. It was so kind of her; but I thought you would not approve of my taking it. It was no longer my dinner, when I had eaten all I could: it did not appear to me quite hers to give.” “To doubt my right!” commented Matty; but Mr. Whitelock commanded her to listen, in a tone she was little accustomed to. “The lad is right, Matty; it is the proper sense of justice and honesty. I am glad to see it, Matty; it is not common. You may take what you leave in future, my boy; Matty was right, and you were right. No words, Matty.”