"Could you eat an egg?"
Huldah stared blankly at her hostess. She could not at first realise
that the question was meant for her. "An egg! Me! Oh, yes, ma'am,
but I don't want anything so--so good as that." She could have eaten
anything, no matter how plain, or poor, or unappetizing. But an egg!
One of the greatest luxuries she had ever tasted. "A bit of dry
bread will be plenty good enough. Eggs cost a lot, and--and--"
"My hens lay eggs for me in plenty. I don't ever have to buy one,"
said the old woman, proudly. "I've got some fine hens."
"Do you keep a farm, ma'am?"
Mrs. Perry smiled and sighed. "No, child; a few hens don't make a
farm. I had a cow at one time, but all that's left is the house she
lived in. Now, draw over to the table and have your supper."
At any other time Huldah would have been shy of eating before a
stranger, for in the caravan good manners were only a subject for
sneers and laughter, and she remembered enough of her mother's
teaching to know how shocking to ordinary eyes Mr. and Mrs. Smith's
behaviour would have seemed. To-night, though, she was too
ravenously hungry for shyness to have much play. She tried to
remember all she could of what her mother had taught her, and got
through fairly creditably.
"Now," said Mrs.
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