Holmes! Father! Now, ef yoh jes' hedn't hed yer supper?"
She came up, coaxingly. What brooding brown eyes the poor
cripple had! Not many years ago he would have sat down with the
two poor souls, and made a hearty meal of it: he had no heart for
such follies now.
Old Yare stood in the background, his hat in his hand, stooping
in his submissive negro fashion, with a frightened watch on
Holmes.
"Do you stay here, Lois?" he asked, kindly, turning his back on
the old man.
"On'y to bring his supper. I couldn't bide all night 'n th'
mill," the old shadow coming on her face,--"I couldn't, yoh know.
HE doesn't mind it."
She glanced quickly from one to the other in silence, seeing the
fear on her father's face.
"Yoh know father, Mr. Holmes? He's back now. This is him."
The old man came forward, humbly.
"It's me, Marster Stephen."
The sullen, stealthy face disgusted Holmes. He nodded, shortly.
"Yoh've been kind to my little girl while I was gone," he said,
catching his breath. "I thank yoh, Marster."
"You need not. It was for Lois."
" 'T was fur her I comed back hyur. 'T was a resk,"--with a dumb
look of entreaty at Holmes,--"but fur her I thort I'd try it. I
know't was a resk; but I thort them as cared fur Lo wud be
merciful. She's a good girl, Lo. She's all I hev."
Lois brought a box over, lugging it heavily.
"We hev n't chairs; but yoh'll sit down, Mr. Holmes?" laughing
as she covered it with a cloth.
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