“But I’ve only got such a ’ittle stockin’,” lisped Rosanna, contemplating a chubby leg, which was, indeed, but imperfectly protected by about three inches of sock. “My stockin’ won’t hold half so much as the others.”
“There, I’ll lend you one of mine, then,” said Auntie, graciously; and, going to the chest of drawers in the corner, she drew forth a pair of her own substantial stockings, and presented one to the child.
As the children retired for the night, Henery paused beside her for a moment.
“You won’t truly go to-morrow, Auntie?” he pleaded coaxingly.
Mrs. Sibley paused a moment, and in the interval the sound of the sexton’s slouching step was heard without, and his hand fumbled at the latch.
“It do all depend on Father, Henery,” said Mrs. Sibley, raising her voice slightly. “He do know very well as I do want a change.”
Mr. Foyle entered, looking weary and depressed, and sat down in his customary chair. Mrs. Sibley cast a searching glance round the kitchen, and, possessing herself of a pair of spotted china dogs which adorned the mantel-piece, added them to her collection, and retired.
The sexton lit his pipe, and had been smoking in gloomy silence for some time, when Mrs. Sibley re-entered. Going to the dresser, and opening a drawer, she abstracted a number of oranges, nuts, crackers, and other such wares, and filled her apron with them.
“What be them for?” inquired the sexton diffidently.
“Why, they be surprises for the childern,” returned she.