“Now then,” cried Luke in high good humour, “if the meal’s ready the mon is.”
He set a chair in Jinny’s place, and fetched another for himself, and was about to sit down, when Jinny, who had methodically arranged plates and cups upon the table, glanced at him reprovingly.
“Prayers first,” she remarked.
“Well, I’m ready—fire away,” grunted Luke, bending his head and folding his hands in the approved fashion.
“Grace is one thing,” observed Jinny, “an’ prayers another. Yo’ll go down on your knees, Luke Kershaw, along o’ me an’ say a word to yo’r Maker afore yo’ breaks bread i’ this house.”
“I’m d—d if I do!” shouted Luke, thumping the table. “I’m about tired o’ bein’ missus’d an’ so I tell yo’. Pray away as much as yo’ like, Miss Whiteside—I’ll step outside an’ yo’ can call me when yo’re ready.”
Jinny shot a glance at him, and then, with the precision which characterised all her actions, removed one plate, one cup and saucer, and one knife and one fork from the table.
“Them as hasn’t the decency to thank the Giver, dunnot want the gifts,” she observed, and flopped down on her knees by the settle in the corner.
“What mak’ o’ talk’s that?” enquired Luke somewhat shamefacedly.
“Yo’ know well enough,” responded she. “This here’s a Christian house, I say, an’ I’ll not set at table wi’ nobry as dunnot begin the day as a Christian should.”