He told her and she went to them, to look down at them and say, “If you and their father hadn’t helped each other that day they wouldn’t be here, nor you, nor I, nor Johnny⁠—none of us in this room.”

“They won’t live out the day,” he said. “They have to have milk⁠—and there isn’t any.”

She reached down to touch them and they seemed to sense that she was someone different. They stirred, making tiny whimpering sounds and trying to move their heads to nuzzle at her fingers.

Compassion came to her face, like a soft light.

“They’re so young,” she said. “So terribly young to have to die.⁠ ⁠…”

She looked at Johnny and at the little bottle that held his too-small morning ration of milk.

“Johnny⁠—Johnny⁠—” Her words were almost a whisper. “You’re hungry⁠—but we can’t let them die. And someday, for this, they will fight for your life.”