“Agency for Artificial Manure” was printed over the door. Willy asked the office-boy if there were any letters, and they went upstairs. The windows of the front room were in view of a church spire, and overlooked a little shadowy cemetery; and at one window Cissy sat, the little crutches by her side, watching the children playing amid the tombs.
“Where's your mother, Cissy?”
“In the back room cooking herrings, uncle.”
Mrs. Brookes was a homely, honest-eyed woman, with dingy yellow hair.
“Let me introduce you. This is my friend, Mr. Escott, you have often heard me speak of him.”
“You must excuse my shaking hands with you, sir, I have been cooking.”
“She is an excellent cook, too. Just you wait and see. What have we got?”
“Some herrings and a piece of steak.”
“Is that good enough for you?”
“I love herrings.”