“‘The Bible says, father——’ she began, stirring away.
“‘Yes, dear,—what does it say?’ said Mr. Peg.
“‘It says, ‘_Trust in the Lord and do good; so shall thou dwell in the land, and verily_——’’
“Susan’s voice broke. She stirred her porridge vehemently, and turned her back to her father.
“‘‘_Verily thou shalt be fed_,’’ said the cobbler. ‘Yes—I know it. The thing is, to believe it.’
“‘You do believe it, father,’ Susan said, softly.
“‘Ay, but I haven’t trusted the Lord, nor done good, any to speak of. It’ll stand good for you, daughter, if it doesn’t for me.’
“She had stirred her meal into the skillet; and now, setting down her dish, she came to his side, and putting her two arms round his neck, she kissed him all over his face. The cobbler let fall leather and ends, and hugged her up to his breast.
“‘That’s done me more good than dinner now,’ said he, when he had, albeit tearfully, given her two or three sound kisses by way of finishing. ‘You may have all the porridge, Susie.’
“‘There’s enough, father; and there’s some bread, too.’
“‘Eat it all up,’ said the cobbler, turning to his work again, maybe to hide his eyes. She stood leaning on his shoulder, just so as not to hinder the play of his arm.
“‘Shall I keep the bread for supper, father?’
“‘No, dear; maybe I’ll get some money before supper.’
“‘I don’t know.—The first pair of feet that come along that will fit ’em. If I sell these I’ll get some leather and make more.’
“‘Is that the last of your leather, father?’
“‘Ay—the last big enough; the rest is all pieces.’
“She stood a little while longer, laying her head on his shoulder; then came a knocking up stairs, and she ran away. The cobbler wrought at his shoe for a space, when turning his head, he dropped everything to go and see after the porridge; and he squatted over the fire, stirring it, till such time as he thought it was done, and he drew back the skillet. He went to the foot of the stairs, and looked up and listened for a minute, and then left it and came back without calling anybody. It was plain he must eat his dinner alone.
“His dinner was nothing but porridge and salt, eaten with what would have been a good appetite if it had had good thoughts to back it. And the cobbler did not seem uncheerful; only once or twice he stopped and looked a good while with a grave face into the fire or on the hearth. But a porridge dinner after all could not last long. Mr. Peg set away his plate and spoon, placed the skillet carefully in the corner of the fire-place, took off his leather apron, and put on his coat; and, taking his hat from the counter, he went out.