But Samuel makes no re-ply. He is so deeply interested in his book that he does not hear. The old man rests himself a little longer and then finishes tying his packages. He lifts the heavy basket and sets it on the table. The exertion brings on another fit of coughing; and when it is over he calls for the third time, “Samuel!”
“What is it, father?” This time the call is heard.
“You know, Samuel,” he says,“that tomorrow is market day at Uttoxeter, and our stall must be attended to. Some of our friends will be there to look at the new books which they expect me to bring. One of us must go down on the stage this morning and get everything in readiness. But I hardly feel able for the journey. My cough troubles me quite a little, and you see that it is raining very hard.”
“Yes, father; I am sorry,” answers Samuel; and his face is again bent over the book.
“I thought perhaps you would go down to the market, and that I might stay here at the shop,” says his father. But Samuel does not hear. He is deep in the study of some Latin classic.
The old man goes to the door and looks out. The rain is still falling. He shivers, and buttons his coat.
It is a twenty-mile ride to Uttoxeter. In five minutes the stage will pass the door.
“Samuel, will you not go down to the market for me this time?”
The old man is putting on his great coat. He is reaching for his hat. The basket is on his arm.