tried to speak.

"I have three little children," she said. "I am sick. I cannot work,
and their father drinks mescal--always mescal. I have no money. Will
you give me a little bread? I am no beggar, but my babies are so
hungry!"

Rosa knew how much harm mescal (a kind of intoxicating drink made
from the maguey or Mexican aloe) did among the neighbors. She did
not doubt the woman's tale; only it was disappointing, when one
thought a real customer had at last come to the panaderia, to find
that it was not so. But the girl nodded sympathetically at the
conclusion of the young woman's appeal.

"I will speak to grandmother," she promised.

She found her grandmother lying down still, but half awake, and
explained to her the situation.

"Yes, yes," returned the grandmother, her wrinkled face full of
sympathy. "Give her the bread. Has not the Lord told us to care for
the poor? He would not be pleased if we sent her away without bread.
Tell the poor woman to come again. The little children, must be
fed."

Rosa hurried back to the counter, and gave the woman two fresh
loaves and the grandmother's message.

"Gracias!" (thanks) sobbed the young woman and hurried away.