"It did sadly," he replied; "I was obliged to get up, and move my bed."
"Has the rain been so heavy here then?" enquired the stranger with some interest.
"Not in particular, sir," said Martin, "if our roofs were waterproof—but they ain't; I don't care who knows it. Look at this old man," he said, turning to Giles, "is he fit to live in a hole with the roof half off, and the sun and rain coming in every where. It almost drives me wild to think of it—and if it goes on much longer, there'll be mischief come on it, that I know."
"Do not talk in that way," said old Giles, gently, "if I am content with my house, you should not make it a cause for dispute."
"Yes; but if any one could claim a proper shelter for his head, it is you, Giles. You served the family for fifty years, and after spending the best part of your life working for them, the least they could do, would be to keep the wind and rain off your old white head."
"It is not right to talk like this, Martin," returned Giles, gravely, "for you might make me discontented with my lot. You forget that by allowing me to work for them, they gave me food for all those years—and if I did my work honestly, only for the reward they had to give me, I deserved to lose it."
"Of what family are you speaking?" enquired the stranger, slightly rousing himself, and drawing a little more into the circle.
"Who is your landlord, and what prevents his seeing to your comforts?"
Martin seemed anxious to reply; but he was prevented by Giles.