"Bread for your family! I thought you and mamma had"--and then she stopped, checking her natural interest regarding their future life, as she saw the gathering gloom on her father's brow. But he, with his quick intuitive sympathy, read in her face, as in a mirror, the reflections of his own moody depression, and turned it off with an effort.
"You shall be told all, Margaret. Only help me to tell your mother. I think I could do anything but that: the idea of her distress turns me sick with dread. If I tell you all, perhaps you could break it to her to-morrow. I am going out for the day, to bid farmer Dobson and the poor people on Bracy Common good-bye. Would you dislike breaking it to her very much, Margaret?"

'Bread for your family! I thought you and mamma had-' She stopped as she saw the gathering gloom on her father's brow. But he turned it off with an effort.
'You shall be told all, Margaret. Only help me to tell your mother. The idea of her distress turns me sick with dread. Perhaps you could break it to her tomorrow. I will be going out for the day, to bid people good-bye. Would you dislike breaking it to her very much?'
