John Halifax neither answered nor declined his eyes. He seemed to
feel that this was a critical moment, and to have gathered all his
mental forces into a serried square, to meet the attack. He met it,
and conquered in silence.

"Lad, shall I give thee the groat now?"

"Not till I've earned it, sir."

So, drawing his hand back, my father slipped the money into mine, and
left us.

I followed him with my eyes, as he went sturdily plashing down the
street; his broad, comfortable back, which owned a coat of true
Quaker cut, but spotless, warm, and fine; his ribbed hose and
leathern gaiters, and the wide-brimmed hat set over a fringe of grey
hairs, that crowned the whole with respectable dignity. He looked
precisely what he was--an honest, honourable, prosperous tradesman.
I watched him down the street--my good father, whom I respected
perhaps even more than I loved him. The Cornish lad watched him
likewise.

It still rained slightly, so we remained under cover. John Halifax
leaned in his old place, and did not attempt to talk. Once only,
when the draught through the alley made me shiver, he pulled my cloak
round me carefully.

"You are not very strong, I'm afraid?"

"No."