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Updated: May 26, 2025
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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