"You ain't eatin' a thing," said Lou, and this bold boy in the city, but
timid now, dropped a piece of bread, burnt himself with coffee and
spluttered that never in all his life had he eaten so much. A bird
lighted on the window sill, and whispering to Lou, he said that it had
come to hear her talk, and to carry her music to the other birds to make
them envious; and she spoke no word, but her cheeks replied to him. The
old man was musing and saw nothing, but Margaret heard the words and saw
the blush, and sitting back in her chair she compressed her lips and
fanned herself in satisfied determination. Jim had become calm, though
watchful and still on the dodge. Sometimes he started as if a bold
thought with a sudden knock upon the prison door demanded liberation,
but frightened at the sound of the struggling voice within he would
seem to clap his hand over the key-hole, that no accent might escape.
The old man was aware of these trials and they amused him and often he
would duck his head and laugh over his plate. Margaret would clear her
throat at him.
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