So, to do her justice, was Mrs. Hubble. She had put an extra spoonful of tea in his tea-pot, and had boiled him an egg, a luxury which was not included in his boarding fees. Moreover, she gave him a pitying glance, as she swept the litter of sermon-paper to one side.
“Will you want me to tell people?” she asked him.
“Tell people what?” His voice came throatily, like an old man’s.
“Well, I reckon you woan’t be preaching to-night?”
Something in her voice made him start up, and pull himself together. He saw her squinting compassionately at him, with the corner of her apron in readiness.
“Preach!—Why do you ask that?”
“I’ve heard about your loss. I reckon you woan’t be feeling in heart for preaching.”
He did not reply.
“I cud easy stick up a notice on the chapel door,” she continued, “and all the folkses hereabouts ud understand. They’d never expect you to spik after wot’s happened.”
“Woman!—what has happened?”