"I'm so glad I have it just now when we need it. Put it in quick, and I'll get the table set. Can't we have soaked bread? I love that. Lots of butter and salt and pepper and parsley and an onion, mmmmm-m, it's good."

"But we have hardly a scratch of butter," said Phyllis sadly, "just salt and a little pepper."

"Isn't there even an onion?" asked Rosalie. "I love onion in it."

"Not even an onion, nor so much as a sprig of parsley," said Phyllis. "I wonder where Bob is. He might have raised a penny or two, and we could send him for an onion."

"Why, yes, he is late, isn't he? Perhaps he hasn't got done his paper route yet. But he doesn't get his pay for that till tomorrow."

"Well, we'll have to do the best we can. Lissa, you cut the bread up and put it in the yellow bowl. Rosalie, you get your shoes and stockings on and set the table quick. Mother is liable to be here any minute, and we want it to look cheerful. Put the little geranium pot in the center; there are three buds on it almost open. It will look real festive. We'll pretend we're going to have a banquet. We ought to be very thankful that you had that quarter so we could get that gas going! It's uncanny to be without hot water."

"There's a little sugar for Mother's tea," said Rosalie, lifting the lid of the fine old china sugar bowl.

"Isn't that great!" said Phyllis with forced cheeriness. "Things aren't anywhere near as bad as they might be."

Melissa finished cutting up the hard bread with a sniff and went into the other room in the dark to stand by the window and glower.

"Oh, come on back, Lissa, and let's sing something. Things won't seem half so bad if we sing, and besides, Mother'll like to hear it when she comes in," called Phyllis.

"I can't sing!" snapped back Melissa. "I tell you, I'm hungry, and I don't think it's fair, so there!" And she flung herself down on the old davenport that was Bob's bed at night, and they could hear a choked sob.

Rosalie was laying the knives and forks carefully on the table, and her face was very serious. At last she said in a whisper to Phyllis: "Phyllie, do you think it would be all right to pray for just an onion?"

Phyllis felt her own tears near the surface again, but she tried to keep her voice steady and cheerful as she answered: "Why, I can't see that it would do any harm, dear. Unless--"

"Unless what?" asked the little girl anxiously.

"Why, unless you'd get your hopes all up, and then if it didn't come you'd be so disappointed."

"No, I won't," said the little girl. "I thought about that, but, you see, if it didn't come I'd just think God had some other way He wanted to do. He mightn't think it best for us to have an onion now."

Phyllis looked at the earnest little face wonderingly. What a sweet simplicity there was in a child's faith. She sighed, for in her own heart there was stealing a fierce resentment against something, someone, that all her dear ones should have to suffer so. She could not quite put it into words as Melissa had done and blame God, but it did seem that God, if there really was a God, had forgotten the Challengers.

Rosalie had slipped away into the big clothes closet and closed the door.

Phyllis salted and peppered her dry bread cubes, laid on top of them a little wisp of butter that had been left over from the morning meal, carefully hoarded, then lifted the steaming kettle of water and poured it over the bread till she was sure she had just the right amount, covering it tightly with the biggest plate to let it steam until Mother came. The sight and smell of even that steaming, unbuttered bread made her sick with faintness, and she turned away, blinking back the tears.

The tea was ready in the tea ball, the gas turned to the minimum under the kettle, the cups ready. Everything was done. If there were only cream for the tea and butter for the bread, plenty of butter, and an onion! How many things it took to make just plain, simple, palatable food, and how much money it took for them all! Yes, life was very horrid!

She wandered into the other room and dropped down beside Melissa on the couch, her hand on the pretty head among the pillows.

"Don't get down and out, Lissa; it makes it so hard for the rest of us!" she pleaded.

"I won't!" said Melissa meekly, sitting up and brushing down her tumbled hair. "You're a darling. You never get down and out, do you? I don't know what we would do without you.