drew over her the largest part of his
deplorable coverings. She, too, was strangely silent. For days long
they lay together on the straw, quietly suffering what they had known
from the beginning. It was something near starvation.

When Mini was eight years old his mother sent him one day to beg food
from Madame Leclaire, whose servant she had been long ago.

"It's Lucile's Mini," said Madame, taking him to the door of the cosey
sitting-room, where Monsieur sat at _solitaire_.

"_Mon Dieu_, did one ever see such a child!" cried the retired notary.
"For the love of Heaven, feed him well, Marie, before you let him go!"

But Mini could scarcely eat. He trembled at the sight of so much food,
and chose a crust as the only thing familiar.

"Eat, my poor child. Have no fear," said Madame.

"But Angelique," said he.

"Angelique? Is it the baby?"

"Yes, Madame, if I might have something for her."

"Poor little loving boy," said Madame, tears in her kind eyes. But
Mini did not cry; he had known so many things so much sadder.

When Mini reached home his mother seized the basket. Her wretched
children crowded around. There were broken bread and meat in plenty.
"Here--here--and here!" She distributed crusts, and chose a
well-fleshed bone for her own teeth. Angelique could not walk, and did
not cry, so got nothing. Mini, however, went to her with the tin pail
before his mother noticed it.

"Bring that back!" she shouted.

"Quick, baby!" cried Mini, holding it that Angelique might drink. But
the baby was not quick enough. Her mother seized the pail and tasted;
the milk was still almost warm. "Good," said she, reaching for her
shawl.

"For the love of God, mother!" cried Mini, "Madame said it was for
Angelique." He knew too well what new milk would trade for. The woman
laughed and flung on her shawl.

"Only a little, then; only a cupful," cried Mini, clutching her,
struggling weakly to restrain her. "Only a little cupful for
Angelique."

"Give her bread!" She struck him so that he reeled, and left the
cabin. _Then_ Mini cried, but not for the blow.

He placed a soft piece of bread and a thin shred of meat in
Angelique's thin little hand, but she could not eat, she was so weak.
The elder children sat quietly devouring their food, each ravenously
eying that of the others. But there was so much that when the father
came he also could eat. He, too, offered Angelique bread. Then Mini
lifted his hand which held hers and s