"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully. Treading with noiseless step over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. "Under the table. ‘To me, quickly!’ There was a brief hush, and then the shouts resumed and several pairs of feet clattered towards her from, as it seemed, several directions. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. No good at all. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. “No man can realize,” she said, “what that pit can be.
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