"My crayshious!" said the woman. "But you wass young for that. But your 'Merican childrens is queer ones. You can sit down an' eat your breakfast. That make no matter to me if you is careful. You can sit down."
There were two chairs near a little table, where perhaps an occasional customer ate buns, and they sat down to their rolls and eggs and salt as to a feast.
"I was hungry," said Rob, cracking his fourth egg.
"So was I," said Meg, feeling that her fresh roll was very delicious.
It was a delightful breakfast. The German woman watched them with placid curiousness as they ate it. She had been a peasant in her own country, and had lived in a village among rosy, stout, and bucolic little Peters and Gretchens, who were not given to enterprise, and the American child was a revelation to her. And somehow, also, these two had an attraction all American children had not; they looked so well able to take care of themselves, and yet had such good manners and no air of self-importance at all. They ate their rolls and hard-boiled eggs with all the gusto of very young appetites, but they evidently meant to keep their part of the bargain and leave her no crumbs and shells to sweep up. The truth was that they were perfectly honourable little souls, and had a
