Free Folly by Marthe Jocelyn Page B

already knew. But today, Sunday, there were strangers clustered near the walls. Some of the gentlemen kept their hats on and some held them under their arms. The ladies wore dresses in beautiful colors, like a row of biscuit tins with pretty labels.
    Like the tins in the Peeveys' shop.
    The mallet rapped. James bowed his head and clasped his hands in front, as all the others did. Rap! He closed his eyes and listened to one of the Big Chaps--which one? He opened one eye and tried to see without turning his head. It was Monty Clemens, who had carroty hair, even under his arms, according to Frederick. Monty said the grace, using words fast.
    "Father of mercies, by whose love abounding all we Thy creatures are sustained and fed, may we while here on earth Thy praises sounding, up to Thy heavenly courts with joy be led."
    The servers carved roast beef and spooned out boiled greens. James held on to both sides of his plate, sniffing, hopeful. Maybe food tasted better on Sundays. There seemed to be more of it. The visitors began to move between the tables, pointing at the food and looking closely at the boys. Was he supposed to stop and look at them? No, the others were ignoring the waving and watching.
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    They were just eating. James just ate, though his throat was clogged.
    Some of the spectators said things.
    "Fancy giving beef to charity children!" That was a lady with blue gloves, holding a man's arm.
    "No wonder they gobble it up like goats," said the man.
    James shut his eyes and tried to chew loudly enough not to hear the talking.
    "The boy who spoke the grace," one lady said. "With the red hair? You can see his mother was an Irish slut!" That made laughter ripple around.
    James kicked Frederick's ankle, not hard, just to get his attention.
    "What?" said Frederick.
    "Why are they here?" whispered James.
    "They come to see us," said Frederick. "Sometimes they give us pennies."
    "But why ?"
    "Because we're poor."
    "Poor," said James. "Not deaf."
    A lady wearing a violet dress swished along their row. She leaned over with her gray bonnet right next to James's face. Close enough that he could have bitten off one of the silky little rosebuds on the hat's brim. Her nose was bumpy but her eyes were soft brown and worried-looking. James stopped chewing. You can't chew or swallow when someone's bumpy nose is nearly touching yours.
    "Hello," she said. "Aren't you a pretty one!"
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    Frederick made a rude noise and pretended it was a cough. The lady kept peering at James. The stupid collar was going to choke him. He lowered his eyes, awkward with staring.
    "Ohh! The lashes!"
    Frederick snorted again. James booted him. He felt roast beef in his throat, mixed with the smell of the lady, which made him think of cake. He might be sick, he really might. Two Big Chaps watched from the other side of the table.
    "Are you new, dear?" asked the lady. "I don't think I've seen you before."
    "Yes, he's new," said one of the older boys. "He doesn't talk much, but he likes pennies."
    James flinched. "I do not!" Of course he did, really, but it was bad manners to say so!
    The lady smiled, showing edges of buckteeth and crinkling her friendly eyes. "I am Lady Bellwood," she said. "What is your name?"
    Frederick booted him this time.
    "James," he whispered.
    "Hello, James. You little dear." She opened her purse and tucked something from her hand into his. "That's for you, mind, not for those other boys." And she winked .
    Her skirt was twisted by the bench leg when she tried to stand up but she got free and went away. James slid his fist below the table to glimpse his prize: three sweets wrapped in waxy paper.
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    "What've you got there?" Ben Franklin was quick. James pushed two candies into his cuff before his hand was jerked into view.
    "Give it to me!" Ben snatched the sweet.
    James grabbed at him but mostly for show. He wasn't going to fight with Ben Franklin. He only wanted Sunday dinner to be over and never come again.
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    OLIVER 1884