"THERE IS NO HURRY" 143




TURNS OF FORTUNE




CHAPTER I.


"Hush, Sarah!" exclaimed old Jacob Bond, as he sat up in his bed,
while the wind clattered and whistled through the shivering window
frames. "Hush! Is that Brindle's bark?"

"No, father; it is one of the farm dogs near the village. Lie down,
dearest father; it is a cold night, and you are trembling."

"I don't know why I should feel cold, Sarah," he replied, pointing his
shadowy fingers towards the grate, where an abundant fire blazed; "I
am sure you have put down as much wood as would roast an ox."

"It is so very cold, father."

"Still, we must not be wasteful, Sarah," he answered; "wilful waste
makes woful want." Sarah Bond covered the old man carefully over,
while he laid himself stiffly down upon his pallet, re-muttering his
favourite proverb over and over again.