The red face and Belamour livery looked doubly ominous when she came out of church, but she had to give her arm to her father till they were overtaken by Mr. Arden, who always shared the Sunday roast beef and plum pudding. Betty feared it was the best meal he had in the week, for he lived in lodgings, and his landlady was not too careful of his comforts, while he was wrapped up in his books and experiments. There was a hole singed in the corner of his black gown, which Eugene pointed out with great awe to Aurelia as they walked behind him.
“See there, Aura. Don’t you think he has been raising spirits, like Friar Bacon?”
“What do you know about Friar Bacon?” asked Harriet.
“He is in a little book that I bought of the pedlar. He had a brazen head that said—
‘Time is,
Time was,
Time will be.’
I wonder if Mr. Arden would show me one like it.”
“You ridiculous little fellow to believe such trash!” said Harriet.
“But, Hatty, he can really light a candle without a tinder-box,” said Eugene. “His landlady told Palmer so; and Palmer says the Devil flew away with Friar Bacon; but my book says he burnt all his books and gave himself to the study of divinity, and dug his grave with his own nails.”
“Little boys should not talk of such things on Sundays,” said Harriet, severely.
“One does talk of the Devil on Sunday, for he is in the catechism,” returned Eugene. “If he carries Mr. Arden off, do you think there will be a great smoke, and that folk will see it?”