A bent old man walking very
slowly, leaning upon two sticks, had a red-brown woollen muffler wrapped
round his neck. Seeing her, he stopped and shuffled the two sticks
into one hand that he might leave the other free to touch his wrinkled
forehead stiffly, his face stretching into a slow smile as she stopped
to speak to him.
"Good-morning, Marlow," he said. "How is the rheumatism to-day?"
He was a deaf old man, whose conversation was carried on principally by
guesswork, and it was easy for him to gather that when her ladyship's
handsome young sister had given him greeting she had not forgotten to
inquire respecting the "rheumatics," which formed the greater part of
existence.
"Mornin', miss--mornin'," he answered in the high, cracked voice
of rural ancientry. "Winter be nigh, an' they damp days be full of
rheumatiz. 'T'int easy to get about on my old legs, but I be main
thankful for they warm things you sent, miss. This 'ere," fumbling at
his red-brown muffler proudly, "'tis a comfort on windy days, so
'tis, and warmth be a good thing to a man when he be goin' down hill in
years."
"All of you who are not able to earn your own fires shall be warm this
winter," her ladyship's handsome sister said, speaking closer to his
ear.
Pages:
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835