"
"Ah,--perhaps she's in the room yonder," said Barnabas, "anyhow, I
mean to see--"
"No ye don't!" cried the little cobbler, seizing a crutch that leant
near him, and springing up with astonishing agility, "no ye don't,
my fine gentleman,--she ain't for you,--not while I'm 'ere to
protect her!" and snatching up a long awl, he flourished it above
his head. "I'm a cobbler, oh yes,--but then I'm a valiant cobbler,
as valiant as Sir Bedevere, or Sir Lancelot, or any of 'em,--every
bit,--come and try me!" and he made a pass in the air with the awl
as though it had been a two-edged sword. But, at this moment, the
door of the inner room was pushed open and Clemency appeared. She
had laid aside her threadbare cloak, and Barnabas was struck afresh
by her proud, dark loveliness.
"You good, brave Nick!" said she, laying her hand upon the little
cripple's bent shoulder, "but we can trust this gentleman, I know."
"Trust him!" repeated the cobbler, peering at Barnahas, more
particularly at his feet, "why, your boots _is_ trustworthy--now I
come to look at 'em, sir,"
"Boots?" said Barnabas.
"Ah," nodded the cobbler, "a man wears his character into 'is boots
a sight quicker than 'e does into 'is face,--and I can read boots
and shoes easier than I can print,--and that's saying summat, for I'm
a great reader, I am.
Pages:
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562