"
Little sun-hat and empty porte-monnaie put away, quietly she seated
herself on the sofa opposite me, with two little fat feet hanging
dangling down. Dignity kept her silent, and amusement mingled with pity
made me so.
This state of things lasted for some moments, while the dainties were
diminishing from my plate. Every mouthful was wistfully watched. At
length with grave old-fashioned face, she asked, "Are you sorry for
beggar chil'en, Aunty?"
"Very sorry indeed," I replied with composure.
Then with a tremor in the voice:
"Aunty, if you saw a little child in the street a starvin' to death for
some bread and butter wif jelly on it, wouldn't you give her some?"
I shook my head. Another pause, and then with little fat hands clasped,
and voice full of sobs, poor little Zay cried out, "Oh, Aunty, if you
saw a little girl starvin' to death for sponge cake, wouldn't you give
her some?"
"How could I, Zay, if the little girl's mamma had forbidden it?"
All her fortitude was gone. She burst into tears. She laid her head down
on the sofa and sobbed.
"Oh, oh! and they had fricasseed chicken, with Mary's nice toast under
it; and you have sponge-cake and wine-jelly; and I haven't nuffin; there
isn't one single butter cracker in the house!"
At this climax of misery the house resounded with her lamentations, in
which my tears would mingle; but fortunately the dear grand-parents soon
appeared to comfort their darling.
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