“I ha', an' I'm goin' again. So is Nib. He's getten one.”
“Who?” for Jud had signified by a gesture that he was not the dog, but some indefinite person in the village.
“Th' little Parson.”
“Say, Mr. Grace,” suggested Anice. “It sounds better.”
“Aye—Mester Grace—but ivverybody ca's him th' little Parson. He's getten a neet skoo i' th' town, an' he axed me to go, an' I went I took Nib an' we larned our letters; leastways I larned mine, an' Nib he listened wi' his ears up, an' th' Par—Mester Grace laffed. He wur na vext at Nib comin'. He said 'let him coom, as he wur so owdfashioned.'”
So Mr. Grace found himself informed upon, and was rather abashed at being confronted with his enterprise a few days after by Miss Barholm.
“I like it,” said Anice. “Joan Lowrie learned to read and write in a night school. Mr. Derrick told me so.”
A new idea seemed to have been suggested to her.
“Mr. Grace,” she said, “why could not I help you? Might I?”
His delight revealed itself in his face. His first thought was a selfish, unclerical one, and sudden consciousness sent the color to his forehead as he answered her, though he spoke quite calmly.