'You have your working dress on, and are not so gallant as when you
wear the handsome coat?' said Bertha, touching him.
'Not quite so gallant,' answered Caleb. 'Pretty brisk though.'
'Father,' said the Blind Girl, drawing close to his side, and
stealing one arm round his neck, 'tell me something about May. She
is very fair?'
'She is indeed,' said Caleb. And she was indeed. It was quite a
rare thing to Caleb, not to have to draw on his invention.
'Her hair is dark,' said Bertha, pensively, 'darker than mine. Her
voice is sweet and musical, I know. I have often loved to hear it.
Her shape--'
'There's not a Doll's in all the room to equal it,' said Caleb.
'And her eyes!--'
He stopped; for Bertha had drawn closer round his neck, and from
the arm that clung about him, came a warning pressure which he
understood too well.
He coughed a moment, hammered for a moment, and then fell back upon
the song about the sparkling bowl; his infallible resource in all
such difficulties.
'Our friend, father, our benefactor.
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