"Because you know more about that sort o' thing than I do—and you know it."
Mr. Spelt said grace so devoutly that nobody could hear him.
"Why do you say grace as if you was ashamed of it, Spelt? If I was to say grace, now, I would let you hear me."
"I didn't know you cared about such things," returned Spelt, evasively.
"Well," said Mr. Kitely, "no more I do—or did, rather; for I'm afraid that Mr. Fuller will get me into bad habits before he has done with me. He's a good man, Mr. Fuller, and that's more than I'd say for every one of the cloth. They're nothing but cloth—meaning no offense, Mr. Spelt, to a honest trade."
"Perhaps there are more good ones among 'em than you think, Mr. Kitely," said Lucy.
"There ud need to be, miss. But I declare that man has almost made me hold my tongue against the whole sect of them. It seems a shame, with him in St. Amos's, to say a word against Mr. Potter in St. Jacob's. I never thought I should take to the church in my old age."
"Old age, Mr. Kitely!" Mattie broke in. "If you talk in that way, think what you make of me!"
A general laugh greeted this remark. But Mattie was serious, and did not even smile.
Poppie never opened her lips, except to smile. But she behaved with perfect propriety. Mr. Spelt had civilized her so far, and that without much trouble. He never told any one, however, that it was with anxiety that he set out every night at half-past nine to bring her home; for more than once he had found her potato-steamer standing alone on the pavement, while she was off somewhere, looking at something, or following a crowd. He had stood nearly half an hour before she came back upon one of those occasions. All she said when she returned was, "I thought I should find you here, daddy."