Little enough, indeed, was sufficient for some of them; wasted with long famine, they turned sick and faint, and dropped down even with bread in their mouths, unable to swallow it.
Others gorged themselves to the full, and then lay along the steps, supine as satisfied brutes.

Only a few sat and ate like rational human beings; and there was but one, the little, shrill-voiced man, who asked me if he might "tak a bit o' bread to the old wench at home ?" John, hearing, turned, and for the first time noticed me.
"Phineas, it was very wrong of you; but there is no danger now." No, there was none--not even for Abel Fletcher's son.

I stood safe by John's side, very happy, very proud.
"Well, my men," he said, looking round with a smile, "have you had enough to eat ?" "Oh, ay!" they all cried.
And one man added--"Thank the Lord!" "That's right, Jacob Baines: and, another time, trust the Lord.

You wouldn't then have been abroad this summer morning"-- and he pointed to the dawn just reddening in the sky--"this quiet, blessed summer morning, burning and rioting, bringing yourselves to the gallows, and your children to starvation." "They be nigh that a'ready," said Jacob, sullenly.

"Us men ha' gotten a meal, thankee for it; but what'll become o' the little 'uns at home?
I say, Mr.Halifax," and he seemed waxing desperate again, "we must get some food somehow." John turned away, his countenance very sad.