He and his family always moved after their mid-day Sabbath repast
from the little back room behind the shop up to what they called the
drawing-room overhead. It was impossible to avoid seeing them every
time we went to the window. The father of the family, after his
heavy meal, invariably sat in the easy-chair with a handkerchief over
his eyes and slept. The children were always at the windows,
pretending to read books, but in reality watching the people below.
At about four o'clock their papa generally awoke, and demanded a
succession of hymn tunes played on the piano. When the weather
permitted, the lower sash was opened a little, and the neighbours
were indulged with the performance of "Vital Spark," the father
"coming in" now and then with a bass note or two at the end where he
was tolerably certain of the harmony. At five o'clock a prophecy of
the incoming tea brought us some relief from the contemplation of the
landscape or brick-scape. I say "some relief," for meals at M'Kay's
were a little disagreeable. His wife was an honest, good little
woman, but so much attached to him and so dependent on him that she
was his mere echo. She had no opinions which were not his, and
whenever he said anything which went beyond the ordinary affairs of
the house, she listened with curious effort, and generally responded
by a weakened repetition of M'Kay's own observations.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35