'Then nex time she wants owt, she can fetch it fro Clough End hersel,' he said violently, and went out.
Hannah came forward and laid eager hands on the letter, which was from London, addressed in a clerk's hand.
'Louie!' she called imperatively, 'tak un out soom bread-an-drippin.' Louie put some on a plate, and went out with it to the cowhouse, where David sat on a stool, occupying himself in cutting the pages of a number of the _Vegetarian News,_ lent him in Clough End, with trembling hands, while a fierce red spot burnt in either cheek.
'Tak it away!' he said, almost knocking the plate out of Louie's hands; 'it chokes me to eat a crumb o' hers.' As Louie was bearing the plate back through the yard, Uncle Reuben came by.' What's--what's 'at ?' he said, peering shortsightedly at what she held.

Every month of late Reuben's back had seemed to grow rounder, his sight less, and his wits of less practical use.
'Summat for David,' said Louie, shortly, ''cos Aunt Hannah woan't gie him no dinner.

But he woan't ha it.' Reuben's sudden look of trouble was unmistakable.

'Whar is he ?' 'I' th' coo-house.' Reuben went his way, and found the dinnerless boy deep, or apparently deep, in recipes for vegetable soups.
'What made yo late, Davy ?' he asked him, as he stood over him.
David had more than half a mind not to answer, but at last he jerked out fiercely, 'Waitin for th' second post, fust; then t' donkey fell down half a mile out o' t' town, an th' things were spilt.

There was nobody about, an' I had a job to get 'un up at a'.' Reuben nervously thrust his hands far into his coat-pockets.
'Coom wi me, Davy, an I'st mak yor aunt gie yer yor dinner.' 'I wouldn't eat a morsel if she went down on her bended knees to me,' the lad broke out, and, springing up, he strode sombrely through the yard and into the fields.
Reuben went slowly back into the house.