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LYING still upon the mattress of his garret bed, with only one thin blanket over him, his brown wasted hands clasped across his broad chest, and some flakes of silvery hair straying over the wide sunburnt brow, on which the very peace of God seemed stamped as with God's own signet-stone,-so lay Job Kippis, as he had lain and never yet arisen since the day when "daily bread," but not "daily comfort," had failed him. Ailie sat on the foot of the bed, and Hor had taken up his station near on the broken chair, with his face towards the back, and his chin bent down upon his hands.
"Tis very well, all that," he said discontentedly, "an' I dare say it's a deal better for her. I don't say 'tisn't; but I says I'd rather ha' kep' her with ourselves, I would."