"Jest gimme a little scrap, mother," he would whine.

He had formerly, on rare occasions, been allowed a small modicum of cake, but now his mother was unyielding.

He got not a crumb; he could only sniff hungrily at the rich, spicy, and fruity aroma which came forth from the closet, and swallow at it vainly and unsatisfactorily with straining palate.
Ephraim was not allowed a soft-stoned plum from a piece of mince-pie; the pie had always been tabooed.

He was not even allowed to pick over the plums for the pies, unless under the steady watch of his mother's eyes.

Once she seemed to see him approach a plum to his mouth when her back was towards him.
"What are you doing, Ephraim ?" she said, and her voice sounded to the boy like one from the Old Testament.