“‘You do believe it, father,’ Susan said, softly.
“‘Ay, but I haven’t trusted the Lord, nor done good, any to speak of. It’ll stand good for you, daughter, if it doesn’t for me.’
“She had stirred her meal into the skillet; and now, setting down her dish, she came to his side, and putting her two arms round his neck, she kissed him all over his face. The cobbler let fall leather and ends, and hugged her up to his breast.
“‘That’s done me more good than dinner now,’ said he, when he had, albeit tearfully, given her two or three sound kisses by way of finishing. ‘You may have all the porridge, Susie.’
“‘There’s enough, father; and there’s some bread, too.’
“‘Eat it all up,’ said the cobbler, turning to his work again, maybe to hide his eyes. She stood leaning on his shoulder, just so as not to hinder the play of his arm.
“‘Shall I keep the bread for supper, father?’
“‘No, dear; maybe I’ll get some money before supper.’
“‘Whose shoes are those, father?’