The woman had no candle, but she heaped on coals with a lavish hand, and prepared a mess of bread and milk.  Little Roy was very hungry; he found no fault with the tin mug, nor with the pewter spoon.  He thought the woman's rough red face rather nice, and her soft tones fell warm on his baby heart.  The dreadful cellar, too, with the flickering firelight making fantastic shadows on its dirty, wet walls, became as a palace in his little mind; he clapped his dimpled hands and said, "Pitty, pitty." He ceased to ask for Faith, and even twice before he had again dropped asleep, he had answered to the name of Davie.