The
other was but half open, and so overhung with a thick grey eyebrow as to
be barely visible. His cheeks were the hue of clay, his chin scrubby,
and a lanky black forelock depended over one temple. A battered felt
hat, a ragged discoloured slop, and corduroys stained with the clay of
the banks completed his squalid costume.
A more miserable object or one apparently more deserving of pity it
would be hard to imagine. To see him crawl with slow and feeble steps
across the fields in winter, gradually working his way in the teeth of a
driving rain, was enough to arouse compassion in the hardest heart:
there was something so utterly woebegone in his whole aspect--so
weather-beaten, as if he had been rained upon ever since childhood. He
seemed humbled to the ground--crushed and spiritless.
Now and then Luke was employed by some of the farmers to do their
ferreting for them and to catch the rabbits in the banks by the
roadside. More than once benevolent people driving by in their cosy
cushioned carriages, and seeing this lonely wretch in the bitter wind
watching a rabbit's hole as if he were a dog well beaten and thrashed,
had been known to stop and call the poor old fellow to the carriage
door. Then Luke would lay his hand on his knee, shake his head, and
sorrowfully state his pains and miseries: 'Aw, I be ter-rable bad, I
be,' he would say; 'I be most terrable bad: I can't but just drag my leg
out of this yer ditch.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149