ttle fellow was overcome, and began to sob, Emma checked herself,
recollecting that she had lost sight of the offender's age, and was
using expressions which he could not understand. But the lesson was
effectual. If ever the brother and sister were tempted to hide anything
by a falsehood they remembered 'Aunt Emma's' face, and durst not incur
the danger of her severity.

So she told her stories to the humming of the machine, and when it was
nearly the children's bedtime she broke off to ask them if they would
like some bread and butter. Among all the results of her poverty the
bitterest to Emma was when she found herself _hoping that the children
would not eat much_. If their appetite was poor it made her anxious
about their health, yet it happened sometimes that she feared to ask
them if they were hungry lest the supply of bread should fail. It was so
to-night. The week's earnings had been three shillings; the rent itself
was four. But the children were as ready to eat as if they had had no
tea. It went to her heart to give them each but one half-slice and tell
them that they could have no more. Gladly she would have robbed herself
of breakfast next morning on their account, but that she durst not do,
for she had undertaken to scrub out an office in Goswell Road, and she
knew that her strength would fail if she went from home fasting.

She put them to bed--they slept together on a small bedstead, which was
a chair during the day--and then sat down to do some patching at a
dress of Kate's. Her face when she communed with her own thoughts was
profoundly sad, but far from the weakness of self-pity. Indeed she
did her best not to think of herself; she knew that to do so cost her
struggles with feelings she held to be evil, resentment and woe of
passion and despair. She tried to occupy herself solely with her sister
and the children, planning how to make Kate more home-loving and how to
find the little ones more food.

She had no companions. The girls whom she came to know in the workroom
for the most part took life very easily; she could not share in their
genuine merriment; she was often revolted by their way of thinking and
speaking. They thought her dull; and paid no attention to her. She was
glad to be relieved of the necessity of talking.

Her sister thought her hard. Kate believed that she was for ever
brooding over her injury. This was not true, but a certain hardness in
her character there certainly was. For her