E. Michelle was laid onto the back seat, her head cradled in Lucy’s lap. But this was but a momentary gleam of personal application, and at this time she followed it up no further. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street. Pews had been brought in and set in two rows before the huge table, covered in white cloth, that formed the altar at the far end. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. He filled his pipe slowly. Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain.
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