She was
not very graciously answered; but she was allowed an old frayed
horse-cloth on which Thora might sleep, and for the rest she might
see what she could find under the stairs in the turret, or in the
chest in the hall window.
The broken, dilapidated fragments which seemed to Grisell mere
rubbish were treasures and wonders to Thora, and out of them she
picked enough to render her dreary chamber a very few degrees more
habitable. Thora would sleep there, and certainly their relations
were reversed, for carrying water was almost the only office she
performed at first, since Grisell had to dress her, and teach her to
keep herself in a tolerable state of neatness, and likewise how to
spin, luring her with the hope of spinning yarn for a new dress for
herself. As to prayers, her mind was a mere blank, though she said
something that sounded like a spell except that it began with
"Pater." She did not know who made her, and entirely believed in
Niord and Rana, the storm-gods of Norseland. Yet she had always been
to mass every Sunday morning. So went all the family at the castle
as a matter of course, but except when the sacring-bell hushed them,
the Baron freely discussed crops or fish with the tenants, and the
lady wrangled about dues of lambs, eggs, and fish. Grisell's
attention was a new thing, and the priest's pronunciation was so
defective to her ear that she could hardly follow.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93