“Isn’t he at home to-day either?” he asked at length.
“No, father.”
“He used always to be at home before, ha, ha!”
The old man was over seventy, but was a very giant. His long white hair, thick, yellowish beard beneath his chin, and red, watery eyes, gave him a patriarchal appearance. He was dressed in black frieze, with silver buttons on his waistcoat, of which the lowest three were left unfastened to allow for his corpulence.
“How are you, father?”
“I? Grand! We’re going to have an auction at home—sell every mortal thing; and your brother’s going to America, and I shall have nothing to live on, and must choose between going with him or to the workhouse.”
“Father!” she exclaimed in a whisper, her eyes fixed on him.
The old man laughed with his lips compressed and his blue-red hands trembling still more upon the handle of his stick. His head shook too upon his thin neck.
“Is he holding a meeting for the workpeople to-day again?” asked the old man with a bitter smile.