Her manners were certainly not agreeable.
"No," said Maggie, "I'm only thinking that if she isn't a very good queen you might be glad when she died, and you could choose another.
If I was a queen, I'd be a very good queen, and kind to everybody." "Here's a bit o' nice victual, then," said the old woman, handing to Maggie a lump of dry bread, which she had taken from a bag of scraps, and a piece of cold bacon.
"Thank you," said Maggie, looking at the food without taking it; "but will you give me some bread-and-butter and tea instead?
I don't like bacon." "We've got no tea nor butter," said the old woman, with something like a scowl, as if she were getting tired of coaxing.
"Oh, a little bread and treacle would do," said Maggie.
"We han't got no treacle," said the old woman, crossly, whereupon there followed a sharp dialogue between the two women in their unknown tongue, and one of the small sphinxes snatched at the bread-and-bacon, and began to eat it.

At this moment the tall girl, who had gone a few yards off, came back, and said something which produced a strong effect.

The old woman, seeming to forget Maggie's hunger, poked the skewer into the pot with new vigor, and the younger crept under the tent and reached out some platters and spoons.

Maggie trembled a little, and was afraid the tears would come into her eyes.

Meanwhile the tall girl gave a shrill cry, and presently came running up the boy whom Maggie had passed as he was sleeping,--a rough urchin about the age of Tom.