'am, I'm only so glad,' said little Meg as soon as
she could command her voice. 'Robbie and baby were so hungry, and I
hadn't got anythink to give 'em.'

'I suppose you aint hungry yourself neither,' observed Mrs Blossom, a
tear rolling down a little channel between her round cheeks and her
nose.

'Oh, but ain't I!' said Meg, recovering herself still more. 'I've had
nothink since last night, and then it were only a crust as Kitty give
me.'

'Well, dear, fall to, and welcome,' answered Mrs Blossom. 'And who's
Kitty?'

'It's a grown-up person as lives in the back attic,' answered Meg,
after eating her first mouthful. 'She helps me all she can. She's
took all my things to the pawn-shop for me, because she can get more
money than me. She's as good as can be to us.'

'Are all your things gone to pawn?' inquired Mrs Blossom.

'I've got baby's cloak and hood left,' she replied mournfully. 'He
wouldn't give more than a shilling for 'em, and I thought it wasn't
worth while parting with 'em for that. I tried to keep Robbie's cap
and pinafore, that were as good as new, but I were forced to let 'em
go. And our shoes, ma'am,' added Meg, taking Robin's bare and bleeding
foot into her hand: 'see what poor Robbie's done to himself.'

'Poor little dear!' said Mrs Blossom pityingly. 'I'll wash his poor
little feet for him when he's finished his dinner. You get on with
yours likewise, my love.'

Meg was silent for some minutes, busily feasting on the hot tripe, and
basking in the agreeable warmth of the cosy room. It was a wonderfully
bright little spot for that quarter of London, but the brightness was
all inside. Outside, at about three feet from the window, rose a wall
so high as to shut out every glimpse of the sky; but within everything
was so clean and shining, even to the quarried floor, that it was
difficult to believe in the mud and dirt of the streets without. Mrs
Blossom herself looked fresh and comely, like a countrywoman; but there
was a sad expression on her round face, plain enough to be seen when
she was not talking.

'My dear,' she said when Meg laid down her knife and fork, and assured
her earnestly that she could eat no more, 'what may you be thinking of
doing?'

'I don't hardly know,' she answered. 'I expect father home every day.
If I could only get enough for the children, and a crust or two for me,
we could get along. But we can't do nothink more, I know.'

'You'll be forced to go into