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Show Page 60 wood out of the porridge. "'Twill have to do," Margaret said, when we had done the best we could with the porridge. "Only Twig has yet to eat anyway. " I was wondering if Twig might be the servant when down the ladder from above came a small boy, who looked to be about nine years. His hair, brown and lanky, straggled into eyes that were round and grey-and old-seeming. I knew immediately this was Twig, for his skinny legs and arms branched out in all directions like limbs on a stick figure drawn by a babe. I smiled at him, but the only sign he gave in return was a narrowing of his eyes. "Twig is our bondsboy," explained Margaret, collecting the pieces of the shattered pipkin. "He came on the Duty a few weeks ago with fifty other urchins plucked off the streets of London. He'll be one of your students, Sarah. "Sit up and eat properly, boy," she snapped when Twig had served himself from the rescued bake kettle. "I'll not have you eating like an animal at my board. Teach you some manners I will afore you gain your freedom, though lucky it is I have twelve years to do it." Twig lifted his head from his trencher and his eyes narrowed further. "No one said aught '•bout my manners afore I came to this wretched place," he muttered. "In London a body was free to eat as he pleased." |