“We hevn’t chairs; but yoh’ll sit down, Mr. Holmes?” laughing as she covered it with a cloth. “It’s a warrm place, here. Father studies ‘n his watch, ‘n’ I’m teacher,”—showing the torn old spelling-book.
The old man came eagerly forward, seeing the smile flicker on Holmes’s face.
“It’s slow work, master,—slow. But Lo’s a good teacher, ’n’ I’m tryin’,—I’m tryin’ hard.”
“It’s not slow, Sir, seein’ father hedn’t ’dvantages, like me. He was a”—
She stopped, lowering her voice, a hot flush of shame on her face.
“I know.”
“Ben’t that ’n ’xcuse, master, seein’ I knowed noght at the beginnin’? Thenk o’ that, master. I’m tryin’ to be a different man. Fur Lo. I am tryin’.”
Holmes did not notice him.
“Good-night, Lois,” he said, kindly, as she lighted his lamp.
He put some money on the table.