nodded towards
the shilling without removing her hands from the tub. He took it,
including in a polite good-morning both Naomi and her mother, who was
huddled in an arm-chair before the fire and recovering from an attack
of the fever, wrote out his voucher solemnly, set it in the exact spot
where the shilling had stood, took up his hat, hesitated for less than
a second, replaced his hat on the table, and, pulling a chair towards
him, dropped on his knees, and began to pray aloud.

The old woman by the fire slewed her head painfully round and stared
at him, then at Naomi. But Naomi was standing with her back to them
both, and her hands soaping the linen in the tub--gently, however, and
without any splashing. She therefore let her head sink back on the
cushion, and assumed that peculiarly dejected air, commonly reserved
by her for the consolations of religion.

On this occasion William Geake prayed in a low and level tone, and
very briefly. He made no allusion to last Saturday, but put up an
earnest petition for blessings upon "our two sisters here," and that
they might learn to accept their appointed portion with resignation,
yea, even with a holy joy. At the end of two minutes he rose, and
was about to dust his knees, after his usual custom, but, becoming
suddenly aware of the difference in cleanliness between Naomi's
lime-ash and the floors of the various meeting-houses of his
acquaintance, refrained. This little piece of delicacy did not escape
Naomi, though her shoulders were still bent over the tub, to all
seeming as resolutely as ever.

"Well, I swow that was very friendly of Mister Geake!" the old woman
ejaculated, as the door closed behind him. "'Tisn't everybody'd ha'
thought what a comfort a little scrap o' religion can be to an old
woman in my state."

"He took a great liberty," said Naomi snappishly.

"Well, he might ha' said as much as 'By your leave,' to be sure;
an' now you say so, 'twas makin' a bit free to talk about our
dependence--an' in my own kitchen too."

"He meant our dependence on th' Almighty," Naomi corrected, still more
snappishly. "William Geake's an odd-fangled man, but you might give
'en credit for good-feelin'. An', what's more, though I don't hold
wi' Christian talk, if a man have a got beliefs, I respect 'en for
standin' to 'em without shame."

"But I thought, a moment ago--" her mother began, and then subsided.
She was accustomed to small tangles in her own processes of though