_, or are they
mocking me?" He looked up, but saw neither jest nor scorn upon the fair
face looking over the garden-wall.
"Good-morning, sir," repeated Emma; "it is a fine morning."
Poor Graffam looked with his dull swollen eyes upon the bright-blue
sky, and then upon the wood-crowned hill, and the shaded dell, where
the waters rippled and murmured, and the birds sang cheerily, and his
heart caught some apprehension of beauty, for he answered slowly, "So
it is, miss,--a very fine morning."
"And pray, how is your dear little babe, sir?" asked Emma, in a voice
of tender concern.
This question seemed fully to rouse him. There was a glance both of
surprise and intelligence in his eye, as he replied, "The child is very
sick;" and then repeated, as though it were a fact new to himself,
"Yes, that poor child is very sick indeed."
"I was at your house yesterday," continued Emma, "and promised Mrs.
Graffam that I would bring a good old lady living with us to see her;
but I am not well enough to go to-day."
"Sorry if you are sick," murmured Graffam.
"Thank you," said Emma. "I was going to ask if you would have the
kindness just to call at the gate tonight, and take a small package for
Mrs. Graffam?"
"I will," said he, with a tone and manner something like self-respect
and respect for his wife,--"I will, miss, with pleasure;" and he pulled
his old hat from his head, and bowed low, while Emma bade him good-by.
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