It was no wonder that her grandmother heard of it and hastened to her son's house.
"Of all things, Alice Marcey!" said she, as she plumped down in her chair. "Don't tell me it was your idea. I know men! What do you want your children to be? Scavengers!"
Up to this time, Alice had had no faith in Tom's scheme. Now she suddenly came to its defense.
"I think the children will love it."
"Love it! Of course they'll love it. Such a charming scheme! They'll be eating all over the place—ash-barrels, probably,—the neighbors', of course. Well, no one ever said of me that I let a child go hungry. Poor little things! They can come over to my house and get a square meal whenever they want. Why you, a sensible woman, are taken in by a lot of empty words from an angry man is a thing I cannot see. Let men talk; then do as you please!"
Having given the sum of old-fashioned wisdom in the treatment of husbands, Mrs. Marcey took her departure, her parasol at a militant angle above her head, holding her skirts an inch higher than necessity indicated.
Laurie later appeared before Alice, stern and accusing.
"Tell me once for all, Mis' Marcey. Is it true what I've been hearin' from the neighbors, that meals is goin' to stop in this house and the childer is goin' to have nothin' to eat?"
"Certainly not," responded Alice with dignity; "they are going to have cereal and bread and milk set before them three times a day. Their father seems to think they will eat better if we leave them like that for a little while."
"And yerself what is you going to do?" inquired Laurie with sarcasm.
