Martin Laver was a tall, fine-looking man, and until his illness had possessed more activity and strength than most men; but his eyes were now sunken, his face looked sickly, and he slightly stooped from weakness.
"Put that monkey down, she'll tire you," said Ann.
Martin smiled, and, shaking his head, pressed his little one to him more closely. He however took a seat, and sat down in the shop, leaning his arm upon the counter. It was such a pleasure to him to feel the soft little hands of his child again stroking his face, and playing with his whiskers, and then the sweet infant lips pressed to his cheek.
In the conversation between husband and wife which followed, Ann took by far the larger share. She told all the gossip of the neighbourhood, while Martin sat listening, or perhaps scarcely listening, with a thoughtful, and somewhat anxious look on his face.
Ann expected a great deal of credit from her husband for the way in which she had conducted the business during his absence.
"I cleaned that window with my own ten fingers," she observed, "and that's not what every woman would have done, you may take my word for that."
The expected praise was heartily given.
"And I've arranged it too, with a pretty bit of taste; those picture ballads attract the passersby, as fly-papers catch flies, specially the one about the murder."
"Ah! That reminds me of what I had resolved on," said Martin, rising from his seat.
After setting down Annie on the counter, he went up to the window, took down the papers, and examined them, one after the other, dividing them into two sets as he did so. Martin then replaced the larger number in the window, but four of the ballads he laid down on the counter with the words, "You had better use these to light the fire, my dear."