She felt hungry, it being now past three o'clock, and she went into a baker's shop nearly opposite the house of Ezra Lynn and asked for a penny loaf. Behind the counter was a motherly woman with a baby in her arms. She gazed kindly at Gracie, and passed the crummiest penny loaf in her stock across the counter. "You seem tired, child," she said, stopping in the middle of a little nursery song she was singing to her baby. "Oh, no, ma'am," said Gracie, digging a piece out of the loaf and smiling at the baby. Gracie was fond of babies. "And hungry," said the woman. "Yes, I _am_ hungry." "Wouldn't you like a bun better?" "This is more filling," said practical Gracie. "Dear heart, what a sensible little mite! And how dusty! You don't look very strong." "Ah, but I am; you mustn't go by looks," said Gracie, and encouraged by the woman's kind voice, she asked if she could have a glass of water. "You shall have a glass of milk," said the woman, going to an inner room and returning with it. "It's good of you," said Gracie, simply, "I'm ever so much obliged to you. May I eat my loaf here?" "Certainly, child, and sit down and rest." The chair she pointed to had its back to the window from which Ezra Lynn's house was visible; Gracie turned it round, so that she faced it. There she sat awhile, munching her bread and drinking her milk. A man came into the shop, poorly dressed, haggard, with distress in his face, and yet with a certain defiant independence in his manner. "Will you trust me half-a-quartern, missis?" he said, abruptly. The woman shook her head. "You're deep enough in my books already, Mr. Mildew, and I can't afford to let you get deeper. Charity begins at home." "And stops there," said the man. "All right. I thought I'd try. My heart's fairly broke trying to get work. It doesn't much matter. The kiddies must starve!" He turned to leave the shop. This touched Gracie's heart. She knew what poverty was; she knew what it was to want bread. "The kiddies must starve" fell upon her like a blow. Of the money which Dick had given to her she had only spent twopence in fares and a halfpenny for a paper, and she had more than half-a-crown left. "The kiddies must starve!" Not if she could help it. The price of bread was marked up in the shop window, "Fivepence per quartern, full weight." She put twopence halfpenny on the counter. "Please let him have the bread, ma'am." The man stared at her; the woman's face flushed. "Take your money back, child," she said. "You shall have the bread, Mr. Mildew: it won't break me." She weighed the loaf, which was short of two pounds; it needed a piece for make-weight, and, the fount of kindness open, she was not particular to an ounce.