"I thought, uncle Bacchus, you would like a very plain page to read the words in that you love. See, I have brought you this. This will almost do without spectacles, hey?"
She produced a New Testament in four thin volumes, of the very largest and clearest type; presenting a beautiful open page. The old man almost chuckled as he received it.
"Dat ar's good!" he said.
"Better than the old one, hey?"
"Dat ar certainly is good," he repeated. "De old un, de words is so torturous small, if I didn't know what dey was, 'pears dey wouldn't be no use to me."
"Well, then I made no mistake this time. Now, uncle Bacchus, I know you take no comfort in tobacco; so I've brought you something else—something you like. Must have something to make Christmas gay, you know."
She put a paper of French bonbons in the old man's hand. He laughed, half at her and half at the sugarplums, Rotha thought; and he bowed again.
"De Lord give madam sumfin' to make her gay!" he said.
"Himself, uncle Bacchus!"
"Dat's so, madam!" he replied, as she took his hand to bid him good bye.