'You have your working dress on, and are not so
gallant as when you wear the handsome coat?' said
Bertha, touching him.
'Not quite so gallant,' answered Caleb. 'Pretty
brisk though.'
'Father,' said the Blind Girl, drawing close to his
side, and stealing one arm round his neck, 'tell me
something about May. She is very fair?'
'She is indeed,' said Caleb. And she was indeed.
It was quite a rare thing to Caleb, not to have to
draw on his invention.
'Her hair is dark,' said Bertha, pensively, 'darker
than mine. Her voice is sweet and musical, I know.
I have often loved to hear it. Her shape --'
'There's not a Doll's in all the room to equal it,'
said Caleb. 'And her eyes!' --
He stopped; for Bertha had drawn closer round
his neck, and, from the arm that clung about him,
came a warning pressure which he understood too
well.
He coughed a moment, hammered for a moment,
and then fell back upon the song about the sparkling
bowl, his infallible resource in all such difficulties.
'Our friend, father, our benefactor.
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