noon
I was happy then -- when I knelt on the rude hearth and blew with my mouth instead of a bellows , the smoking , smouldering wood into a blaze , and heard the loving words that the good old woman lavished upon me . She loved me -- but not as much as I loved her . She was my peculiar treasure -- something for me to live for , and think of . I always left my dinner with her , and at noon returned to eat it with her ; though I would feel almost ashamed to spread out the cold meat and bread before her , she looked so much like a lady . But she always asked a blessing ; that was what I never did , and it gave me an awe-stricken feeling , and my meal would have something of a solemn and tender interest -- what with the blessing , and the old woman 's love for me , and mine for her -- and we ate it in a solemn and gloomy room , for there was no table in the little back room , so we used the counter of the old store ; and the empty shelves and the closed doors and shutters , with only the light from the back-door , made me often look around shudderingly into the gloom and obscurity of dark corners -- for I abounded in superstitious terrors , and I pitied the poor , lonely old woman for living in such a home more than I ever pitied the cold and hunger she endured . Often when our dinner was over , I read aloud to her in the Bible . She could read it herself .