In Which Halfpott History Is Revealed …
The ringing of the purple bell signaled Horton's least favorite time of the week. He would rather endure a spoon beating.
Horton simply could not bring himself to take a cake.
He would have liked one, of course. He was just as hungry as everyone else.
But Horton could not bring himself to break a rule. Even on a day such as that one, when there had been a Loosening, he could not break a rule.
Loafburton had almost given up trying.
"Skin and bones you are, my good Horton," he said. "M'Lady Luggertuck doesn't feed you enough to live on. You'll drop over dead right in your sink one of these days."
Horton knew that Loafburton was right. He knew that M'Lady Luggertuck was cruel and mean and wrong.
It made him angry at himself. It made him miserable. But it just seemed wrong to take the Luggertucks' food.
Plus, he asked himself with horror, what if he lost his week's wages or—much worse—his job at Smugwick Manor?
Ah yes, Reader, I know what you are thinking. You think that losing an awful job in an awful place for awful pay would be a good thing.
But Horton had a reason. His reason was the other Halfpotts—his mother, his brothers and sisters, old Uncle Lemuel, and his father, who had been sick for so long.
Every Sunday morning—the only free time allotted to the Luggertucks' servants—Horton ran down the road, through the village, across ten fields and three streams, to the cottage where his family lived.
He gave his mother the single copper penny he had earned. She smiled and put it in a little tin can.
"Now do we have enough to pay for a doctor?" Horton always asked.
"Almost, Horton, almost," she always said.
He had just enough time to shake hands with old Uncle Lemuel, to hug his little brothers and sisters, and to kneel down beside his father's sickbed, before he had to turn around and run back.
The Luggertucks' penny was a paltry thing, but it was all the money the Halfpotts had.
And so Horton was grateful and, yes, even faithful to the Luggertucks, who deserved it not at all.