They never
questioned her; never intruded upon her sad, and often pitiful, reserve;
but they yearned over her and cheered her as best they could.
Priscilla's visits to her father's house were often dramatic. At first
the sound of her voice disturbed and excited the blind man pathetically.
"Eh? eh?" he stormed, holding to Long Jean's hand; "who comes in my
door?"
"Oh! a lass--from the States," Jean replied with a reassuring pat on the
bony shoulder.
"From the States?" suspiciously.
"Aye. She's taken training in one of them big hospitables, and is a
friend to the crooked gentleman who bides with Master Farwell. The lass
comes to give me lessons in my trade." Jean had a touch of humour.
"I'll have no fandangoing with me!" asserted Glenn, settling back in his
chair. "Old ways are good enough for me, Jean, and remember that, if you
value your place. I want no woman about me who has notions different from
what God Almighty meant her to have. Larning is woman's curse. Give 'em
larning, I've always held, and you've headed 'em for perdition."
But Priscilla won him gradually, after he had become accustomed to her
disturbing voice.
Pages:
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410