Yes, I'll pick his locks; and what comes to my share I'll give
to the poor.'
Now which of these two men, that robber or the respectable old miser
Christian, finds more favour in God's sight, think my readers?
Well, The Lifter decided to rob him, and I am glad that he did. I am
not dealing with a case in the moon either. I know this old man well;
and I am acquainted with some others of his kind.
About an hour after the soliloquy above recorded had taken place a
weak set of knuckles rapped upon the back door of the miser's
dwelling. The fairies had put, in crystal Chinese white, many ferns
and much delicate but tangled tracery upon the panes of the kitchen,
yet through them the flaxen-headed stranger saw a round face, and a
pair of bright blue eyes. The door was then opened and the head asked:
'Who are you?'
'A poor wretch, tired, ill, lame and hungry. If you will but let me
go into the kitchen a rug will serve me for the night.'
'You're the same one, bad luck to you, that so irrithated the
masther?'
'I merely asked him for shelter. I said nothing else,' replied the
Lifter, in his very softest and, meekest tone.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161