The money I had saved out of my wages was soon spent, and one morning when I sat down to breakfast, my mother looked across the table and said, in a thoughtful voice: "Robert, dear, this meal has cost us our last halfpenny." My mother was old and frail, and her voice very gentle; she was the most trustful, uncomplaining woman I ever knew.
I looked up quickly into her face as she spoke.

"All the money gone, Mother ?" "Aye, all.

It will be hard for you to go without your dinner, Robert, dear." "It will be harder for _you_, Mother," I cried, striking the table with my fist; then a lump rose in my throat and almost choked me.

I could not utter another word.
It was with difficulty I managed to eat the little food that was before me.

After breakfast I rose hastily and rushed out of the house, determined that I would get my mother her dinner, even if I should have to beg for it.