“No,” said he; “let us be serious and finish this comedy slap off. Perhaps it hitches because I forgot to invoke the comic muse. She must be a black-hearted jade, if she doesn't come with merry notions to a poor devil, starving in the midst of his hungry little ones.”
“We are past help from heathen goddesses,” said the woman. “We must pray to Heaven to look down upon us and our children.”
The man looked up with a very bad expression on his countenance.
“You forget,” said he sullenly, “our street is very narrow, and the opposite houses are very high.”
“James!”
“How can Heaven be expected to see what honest folk endure in so dark a hole as this?” cried the man, fiercely.
“James,” said the woman, with fear and sorrow, “what words are these?”
The man rose and flung his pen upon the floor.
“Have we given honesty a fair trial—yes or no?”
“No!” said the woman, without a moment's hesitation; “not till we die, as we have lived. Heaven is higher than the sky; children,” said she, lest perchance her husband's words should have harmed their young souls, “the sky is above the earth, and heaven is higher than the sky; and Heaven is just.”