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Every night, when Mrs. Millar had undressed her, she knelt beside me in her little white nightgown to 'talk to God, as she called praying. She had evidently learnt a little prayer from her mother, for the first night she began of her own accord 'Jesus, Eppy, hear me. I could not think at first what it was that she was saying; but Mrs.
There was a seedy chap, I remember, used to dine at a cheap restaurant where I once served, just off the Euston Road. He would stick a book up in front of him Eppy something or other and read the whole time. Our four-course shilling table d'hote with Eppy, he would say, was a banquet fit for a prince; without Eppy he was of opinion that a policeman wouldn't touch it.
"As ye wull! father," rejoined Maggie. "I'm gaein oot to seek auld Eppy; she was intil the baker's shop a meenute ago! The bairnie's asleep." "Vera weel! Gien I hear him, I s' atten' til 'im," answered the soutar. "Thank ye, father," returned Maggie, and left the house.
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