"Oh, it is the gentleman who lent us the umbrella. Kit and I were
going to bring it back this afternoon, sir, but I had to finish a
job I had in hand."
"There is no hurry," returned Malcolm. "We were in this direction,
so I thought I would save you the trouble." Malcolm looked curiously
round the room as he spoke.
He was not surprised when he learnt afterwards that the second Mrs.
Martin objected to the basement. It was certainly a gloomy little
place, though scrupulously clean and neat. The sunshine of a July
day filtered reluctantly through the small, opaque-looking window.
Caleb's bench and tools were placed just underneath it, and above
his head a linnet hopped and twittered in a green cage. Kit's
perambulator occupied one corner, while Kit herself, seated at the
table in a high chair, was busily engaged in ironing out some ragged
doll-garments with a tiny bent flat-iron. Anna regarded her
pitifully--the small shrunken figure and sunken chest, and the thin
white face with its halo of red curls. But Kit was almost too
absorbed with her endeavour to get the creases out of a doll's
petticoat to heed her scrutiny.
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