“Not much, but all I had,” answered Cosmo. “I am much obliged to you, but I’m not likely ever to be this way again, so I can’t accept your kindness. I am sorry to have troubled you, but after all, I have the worst of it,” he added, smiling, “for I am very hungry.” [Illustration: COSMO PROPOSES TO WORK FOR HIS DINNER.] As he spoke, he turned away, and had laid his hand on the latch of the door, when the woman spoke again. “Tak th’ loaf,” she said; “it’ll be aw the same in less than a hunder year.” She spoke crossly, almost angrily. Cosmo seemed to himself to understand her entirely. Had she looked well-to-do, he would have taken the loaf, promising to send the money; but he could not bring himself to trouble the thoughts of a poor woman, possibly with a large family, to whom the price of such a loaf must be of no small consequence. He thanked her again, but shook his head. The woman looked more angry than before: having constrained herself to give, it was hard to be refused. “Yo micht tak what’s offered yo!” she said. Cosmo stood thinking: was there any way out of the difficulty? Almost mechanically he began searching his pockets: he had very few _things_ either in his pockets or anywhere else. All his fingers encountered was a penknife too old and worn to represent any value, a stump of cedar-pencil, and an ancient family-seal his father had given him when he left home. This last he took out, glanced at it, felt that only the duty of saving his life could make him part with it, put it back, turned once more, said “Good morning,” and left the shop. He had not gone many steps when he heard the shop-bell ring; the woman came running after him. Her eyes were full of tears. What fountain had been opened, I cannot tell; perhaps only that of sympathy with the hungry youth. “Tak th’ loaf,” she said again, but in a very different voice this time, and held it out to him. “Dunnot be vexed with a poor woman. Sometimes hoo dunnot knaw wheer to get the bread for her own.” “That’s why I wouldn’t take it,” rejoined Cosmo. “If I had thought you were well off, I would not have hesitated.” “Oh! aw’m noan so pinched at present,” she answered with a smile. “Tak th’ loaf, an’ welcome, an’ pey mo when yo’ can.” Cosmo put down her name and address in his pocket-book, and as he took the loaf, kissed the toil-worn hand that gave it him. She uttered a little cry of remonstrance, threw her apron over her head, and went back to the house, sobbing.