294 THE LAND OF PLUCK

Mother's “good night” kiss; but Miss Ellis allowed Marie
and me to pommel each other with the pillows for a while
before going to sleep, and that was a great consolation.

I cannot recall much of the second day of Father’s and
Mother’s absence. Probably we were good and happy, or T
should remember something about it, for clouds are apt
to make stronger pictures on the memory than sunshine.
Oh, yes; Henry Garnet came in from the country. He
was Eliza’s husband, or “ole man,” as she called him, and
he well knew that he was always welcome to a home with
us for Eliza’s sake. He was old and infirm, and would sit
by the kitchen stove hour after hour, rising only when
Eliza’s cheerful voice said, “ Here, ole man, just fotch mea
skettle o’ coal, if you ain’t grow’d fast ter dat yar stool,” or,
“Here, ole man, just fotch in a pail of water, will yer?”

These little demands attended to, old Henry would sit
down again and settle into his afternoon doze, leaning his
head tenderly against the wooden mantel, and folding his
hands before him, quite sure that “Lizer” would set him
up straight, in case he “took to leanin’ over too much to one
side,” as he often did. It was strange to see her pause in
her busiest moments, and, walking toward the dozing old
man, straighten his leaning form in the most businesslike
way, never murmuring though she had to repeat the per-
formance half a dozen times during his nap.

“Ah, Miss Ellis,” she said, one day, “men ts unhandy
things ter hab aroun’, specially in a kitchum ; but den de
old gem’man’s had a hard time bein’ knocked about in dis
worl’, an’ while de Lord spares him, ole Lizer doan mind
de trouble.”