"I dunno," returned the boy. "I ain't much stuck on work. An' dad, he
says it don't git yer nothin', nohow."

"I see," mused the Interpreter, and he seemed to see much more than lay
on the surface of the child's characteristic expression.

The little girl was still gazing wistfully at the faraway line of
hills.

As if struck by a sudden thought, the Interpreter asked, "Your father
is working now, though, isn't he?"

"Uh-huh, just now he is."

"I suppose then you are not hungry."

At this wee Maggie turned quickly from contemplating the distant
horizon to consider the possible meaning in the man's remark.

For a moment the children looked at each other. Then, as a grin of
anticipation spread itself over his freckled face, the boy exclaimed,
"Hungry! Gosh! Mister Interpreter, we're allus hungry!"

For the first time the little girl spoke, in a thin, piping voice,
"Skinny an' Chuck, they said yer give 'em cookies. Didn't they, Bobby?"

"Uh-huh," agreed Bobby, hopefully.

The man in the wheel chair laughed. "If you go into the house and look