But of this, all this, Mrs.Holly did not like to think.
In the kitchen now she turned and faced her young guest.
"Are you hungry, little boy ?" David hesitated; he had not forgotten the woman, the milk, and the gold-piece.
"Are you hungry--dear ?" stammered Mrs.Holly again; and this time David's clamorous stomach forced a "yes" from his unwilling lips; which sent Mrs.Holly at once into the pantry for bread and milk and a heaped-up plate of doughnuts such as David had never seen before.
Like any hungry boy David ate his supper; and Mrs.Holly, in the face of this very ordinary sight of hunger being appeased at her table, breathed more freely, and ventured to think that perhaps this strange little boy was not so very strange, after all.
"What is your name ?" she found courage to ask then.
"David." "David what ?" "Just David." "But your father's name ?" Mrs.Holly had almost asked, but stopped in time.

She did not want to speak of him.

"Where do you live ?" she asked instead.
"On the mountain, 'way up, up on the mountain where I can see my Silver Lake every day, you know." "But you didn't live there alone ?" "Oh, no; with father--before he--went away" faltered the boy.
The woman flushed red and bit her lip.
"No, no, I mean--were there no other houses but yours ?" she stammered.
"No, ma'am." "But, wasn't your mother--anywhere ?" "Oh, yes, in father's pocket." "Your MOTHER--in your father's POCKET!" So plainly aghast was the questioner that David looked not a little surprised as he explained.
"You don't understand.

She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers don't have anything only their pictures down here with us.

And that's what we have, and father always carried it in his pocket." "Oh----h," murmured Mrs.Holly, a quick mist in her eyes.