"Well," said the woman, sinking into the seat Meg pushed forward, "when they came in they sniffed and looked about, and asked where the loaf was, and peeped into the milk-jug, and then they spied the saucepan, and came over as curious as anything to see what it was. I told 'em as it was a present to 'em, but they had no call to eat it unless they liked; and with that I poured out a little into the basins. Some of 'em was that hungry that they didn't think twice about it, and after a mouthful or two that they wasn't sure about, they finished what I gave 'em, and asked for more! That they did--all but one of 'em, and she turned up her nose at it and stuck to the bread." "Did they finish it?" asked Meg. "All but a bit I put by for their father. And they told me to say as they was much obliged, and hadn't had such a nice hot dinner I don't know when." Meg was delighted. She got up to look into her little bread-pan, and the woman's eyes followed her curiously. "I wish I could see ye do it," she said, "'cause I've heard as it's a deal cheaper." "Of course it is," said Meg; "and if you have to stay at home to mind your babies, you could not use some of your time better. Mother used to say it went quite twice as far as baker's bread. I'll show you how to do it next time I bake. I don't do it every day, because we don't need it." "Will you?" asked Mrs. Blunt earnestly. "That I will. I'll let you know when to come." The woman rose, and called her little girl from the window, where she had been absorbed in looking out from such an unusual height. "She's better then?" asked Meg. "Yes," answered her mother, undoing the bandage; "see, it ain't such a great place. How it did bleed to be sure!" "I should keep it wet for the present," said Meg; "water softens things so." "That's true," said the woman. Then hesitating, she added, "Mrs. Seymour, you and your mother-in-law has been the only creatures since I came to London who has ever done me a kindness--I don't forgit it. The neighbours come in at times, and they mean to be kind; but one and another 'ull say a little word as 'ull make ye discontented with yer lot; and it ain't a bit of good. We've got to bear it, and makin' the worst of it don't mend it." "No," answered Meg softly, "that's why----" "Yes," interrupted the woman. "_You_ say I've got a burden, but you say there's the Lord as can lighten it, and I shan't forgit. For one thing, I can see as you let Him carry _yours_." She turned abruptly and left the room, and Meg's eyes filled with tears to think how little, after all, she loved and trusted that dear Lord who loved her and gave Himself for her. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER IX. MEG'S TEA-PARTY. The next time Meg set about making some bread, she told Jem to stop at their neighbour's door, and tell her to come up as soon as she could.