"I only saw her for an instant," he said. "I hadn't time to think anything."
On his way from his work a few days later, he stopped at the Briarley cottage. It was swept and garnished; there were no traces of the children about. Before he reached the house, there had been borne to him the sound of a voice reading at its highest and shrillest pitch, and he had recognized it as Janey's.
As he entered, that young person rose panting from her seat, in her eagerness almost dropping the graphically illustrated paper she held in her hand.
"Eh!" she exclaimed. "I am glad to see thee! I could na ha' stood it mich longer. She would ha' me read the 'To-be-continyerd' one, an' I've bin at it nigh an hour."
Granny Dixon turned on her sharply.
"What art tha stoppin' fur?" she demanded. "What's th' matter wi' thee?"
Murdoch gave a slight start. The sound was so tremendous that it seemed almost impossible that it should proceed from the small and shriveled figure in the armchair.
"What art tha stoppin' fur?" she repeated. "Get on wi' thee."
Janey drew near and spoke in her ear.
"It's Mester Murdoch," she proclaimed; "him as I towd yo' on."