So she plucked up courage, like Christian of
old, and resolved to set out for the house of the Interpreter. Judging,
however, that he could not yet be home from his work, she thought it
better to go home herself first.
After eating a bit of oat cake, with a mug of blue milk for _kitchie_
(Latin "obsonium"), she retired to her garret and waited drearily, but
did not try to pray.
CHAPTER XXIX.
It was very dark by the time she left the house, for the night was
drizzly; but she knew the windings of Glamerton almost as well as the
way up her garret-stair. Thomas's door was half open, and a light was
shining from the kitchen. She knocked timidly. At the same moment she
heard the voice of Thomas from the other end of this house, which
consisted only of a _but and a ben_. In the ben-end (the inner
originally, hence better room) there was no light: Thomas often sat in
the dark.
"Jean, come ben to worship," he cried roughly.
"Comin', Thamas," answered Jean.
Again Annie knocked, but again without result. Her knock was too
gentle. After a moment's pause, dreading that the intended prayers
might interfere with her project, she knocked yet again; but a second
time her knock was overwhelmed in the gruff call of Thomas, sounding
yet more peremptory than before.
Pages:
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244