When you look at her you think she's a baby and then when she talks,
why--she seems older than I am! But she's funny like you, Mom; she's
always pretending things are different from what they are and giving
them names. She calls old Budge the wicked woman who wanted to eat the
two children," Beryl giggled. "And she calls the Mills a Giant."
Moira Lynch's face beamed with joyous understanding. Here was a
fellow-soul, "funny" like herself, Beryl described her; Beryl, for whom
black was always and invariably black, and a spade a spade.
"Why, she even wanted to come down here with me," Beryl finished.
There were so many questions trembling on Moira's tongue that, for the
moment, supper was neglected. Not long, however; the striking of the
clock reminded her that in a very few minutes Dale would be home,
hungry. Her mission in life, next to tending her big Danny, was feeding
her two children. For tonight she had made Beryl's favorite dessert, a
bread pudding, the eggs for which she had carefully hoarded during
several days' denial. Beryl, keeping up a running fire of talk, spread
the cloth on the centre table and brought the dishes from the cupboard.
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