“Sit doon here, lass,” said the woman, drawing forward a splintered chest and placing it beside Norah. “We’ll gie ye somethin’ to eat in a meenit. Are ye hungry?”
“Not hungry,” said Norah, sitting down on the box, “but dry.”
“This is what ye need,” said the man, drawing a bottle from his pocket and handing it to the girl.
“I don’t drink,” said Norah. “I’ve the pledge.”
“Jean,” said the man, looking at his wife and pointing to a tin porringer which lay on the ground beside him, “water.”
The woman went out and returned in a few minutes with a porringer of water which she handed to Norah, who drank deeply.
“Jean,” said the man, uncorking the bottle which he held in his hand, “drink!” The woman returned the bottle when she had drunk a mouthful.
“Jean, tea!”
The woman emptied the porringer from which Norah had drunk and went out again.
“She’s a rare body that!” said the man to Norah when the woman clattered away through the darkness. “I like her, I like her—like——” he paused for a moment and bit the nail of his thumb; “like blazes!” he concluded.