"That wot was round the sausage an' the puddin's greasy," she exulted.

Polly hung over the table and trembled at the sight of meat and bread.
Plainly, she did not understand what was happening. The greased paper
set light to the wood, and the wood to the coal. All three flared and
blazed with a sound of cheerful crackling. The blaze threw out its glow
as finely as if it had been set alight to warm a better place. The
wonder of a fire is like the wonder of a soul. This one changed the
murk and gloom to brightness, and the deadly damp and cold to warmth.
It drew the girl Polly from the table despite her fears. She turned
involuntarily, made two steps toward it, and stood gazing while its
light played on her face. Glad whirled and ran to the hearth.

"Ye've put on a lot," she cried; "but, oh, my Gawd, don't it warm yer!
Come on, Polly--come on."

She dragged out a wooden stool, an empty soap-box, and bundled the sacks
into a heap to be sat upon. She swept the things from the table and set
them in their paper wrappings on the floor.

"Let's all sit down close to it--close," she said, "an' get warm an'
eat, an' eat."

She was the leaven which leavened the lump of their humanity. What this
leaven is--who has found out? But she--little rat of the gutter--was
formed of it, and her mere pure animal joy in the temporary animal
comfort of the moment stirred and uplifted them from their depths.

III