"Two hundred miles!" he gasped, as he looked at the child with
moist eyes over which his red lids half closed. "Ah, you're a Lightfoot,"
he said slowly. "I should know you were a Lightfoot if I passed you in the
road." He carved a slice of ham and held it out on the end of the knife.
"It's long since you've tasted a ham like this--browned in bread crumbs,"
he added temptingly, but the boy gravely shook his head.
"I've had quite enough, thank you, sir," he answered with a quaint dignity,
not unlike his grandfather's and as the Major rose, he stood up also,
lifting his black head to look in the old man's face with his keen gray
eyes.
The Major took up the bundle and moved toward the door. "You must see your
grandmother," he said as they went out, and he led the way up the crooked
stair past the old clock in the bend. On the first landing he opened a door
and stopped upon the threshold. "Molly, here is poor Jane's boy," he said.
In the centre of a big four-post bed, curtained in white dimity, a little
old lady was lying between lavender-scented sheets. On her breast stood a
tall silver candlestick which supported a well-worn volume of "The
Mysteries of Udolpho," held open by a pair of silver snuffers. The old
lady's face was sharp and wizened, and beneath her starched white nightcap
rose the knots of her red flannel curlers. Her eyes, which were very small
and black, held a flickering brightness like that in live embers.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47