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As he reached for his cap a door opposite the one through which he had passed opened, and the grey head of the sexton appeared. “Are—are you hurt bad, Jimmy?” came in a quaking voice. “Never mind Mosey, yer heart don’t need fixin’ anyhow,” comforted Betty..
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For two days the aromas from the kitchen had been such as to dispel the gloom from Moses’ countenance, and hope and anticipation blended on his youthful visage. All heads bowed as the compliant master of the house, with thin nervous hands outspread and in a voice quavering with piety, responded to this request. Moses of the freckled face and pale blue eyes, kept one eye open as grace was being said, in order to scan the bounteous display on the table. Furtively he chose the largest bun on the plate that was placed close to Betty, his little foster-sister. To annex the most corpulent pickle would require some slight manœuvring, but he felt sure it could be managed. “I’ll help a lot. You shan’t have a bit more trouble, sister; nor mamma, either.” He began to distribute the plates with noisy clatter. A lot more nonsense he rattled off, squeezing and kissing her till she was breathless with laughter..
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