"Here's milk for Iry," she announced, handing the pitcher to her mother.
"Now I'll go and get some breakfast for Co."


She returned presently with a sugared doughnut.

"Where did you borry the milk and nut-cake?" asked her mother
wonderingly.

"I didn't borry them," replied Amarilly stoically. "I stole them."

"Stole them! Am-a-ril-ly Jenk-ins!"

"Twan't exackly stealin'," argued Amarilly cheerfully. "I took the milk
from two little cats what git stuffed with milk every morning and night.
The doughnut had jest been stuck in a parrot's cage. He hedn't tetched
it. My! he swore fierce! I'd ruther steal, anyway, than let Iry and Co
go hungry."

"What would the preacher say!" demanded her mother solemnly. "He would
say it was wrong."

"He don't know nothin' about bein' hungry!" replied Amarilly defiantly.
"If he was ever as hungry as Iry, I bet he'd steal from a cat."

The season was now summer. Some time ago John Meredith had gone to the
seashore and the King family to their summer home in the mountains,
unaware that the fever had spread over so wide an area in the Jenkins
domain. The theatre and St. Mark's were closed for the rest of the
summer. The little boys found that their positions had been filled