"Aye," said the girl, her eyes lighting this time with a glint of anger; "the bairn toddled to her when she cam' hame, and he asked for a bit piece. And wi' that she took him and gied him a fling across the floor, and he hurt his airm on the corner of the bed."
And Cleg, though he had given up swearing, swore.
"The wean's asleep!" said Vara; "speak quietly."
And upon tiptoe she led the way. The dusk of the cellar was so dense and the oppression of the foul air so terrible that had not Cleg been to the manner born, he could hardly have reached the little crib where the baby lay huddled among swathings of old petticoats and bits of flannel, while underneath was a layer of hay.
Vara stood gazing with inexpressible rapture at the babe.
"Isna he bonny—bonny?"
She clasped her hands as she spoke, and looked for the answering admiration in Cleg's face.
"Aye," said Cleg, who knew what was demanded of him if he expected to remain Vara Kavannah's friend; "he's juist terrible bonny—elegant as a pictur'!"
He had heard his father say that of a new "jemmy."
In truth, the babe was but skin and bone, with the drawn face of a mummy of five thousand years—and tiny hands, prehensile like those of a monkey.