"Ugh! "said Sara.
"You gets used to anythin' after a bit," said Becky. "You have to, miss, if you 're born a scullery-maid. I 'd rather have rats than cockroaches."
"So would I," said Sara; "I suppose you might make friends with a rat in time, but I don't believe I should like to make friends with a cockroach."
Sometimes Becky did not dare to spend more than a few minutes in the bright, warm room, and when this was the case perhaps only a few words could be exchanged, and a small purchase slipped into the old-fashioned pocket Becky carried under her dress skirt, tied round her waist with a band of tape. The search for and discovery of satisfying things to eat which could be packed into small compass, added a new interest to Sara's existence. When she drove or walked out, she used to look into shop windows eagerly. The first time it occurred to her to bring home two or three little meat-pies, she felt that she had hit upon a discovery. When she exhibited them, Becky's eyes quite sparkled.
"Oh, miss!" she murmured. "Them will be nice an' fillin'. It 's fillin'ness that 's best. Sponge-cake 's a 'evingly thing, but it melts away like—if you understand, miss. These 'll just stay in yer stummick."
"Well," hesitated Sara, "I don't think it would be good if they stayed always, but I do believe they will be satisfying."
They were satisfying,—and so were beef sandwiches, bought at a cook-shop,—and so were rolls and Bologna sausage. In time, Becky began to lose her hungry, tired
