"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "Do you think prayers any good?"
Esther looked up angrily.
"I don't want to say anything against saying prayers, but I wouldn't
before the others if I was you--they'll chaff dreadful, and call you
Creeping Jesus."
"Oh, Margaret, I hope they won't do anything so wicked. But I am afraid I
shan't be long here, so it doesn't matter what they think of _me_."
When they got downstairs they opened the windows and doors, and Margaret
took Esther round, showing her where the things were kept, and telling her
for how many she must lay the table. At that moment a number of boys and
men came clattering up the passage. They cried to Esther to hurry up,
declaring that they were late. Esther did not know who they were, but she
served them as best she might. They breakfasted hastily and rushed away to
the stables; and they had not been long gone when the squire and his son
Arthur appeared in the yard. The Gaffer, as he was called, was a man of
about medium height. He wore breeches and gaiters, and in them his legs
seemed grotesquely thick. His son was a narrow-chested, undersized young
man, absurdly thin and hatchet-faced. He was also in breeches and gaiters,
and to his boots were attached long-necked spurs. His pale yellow hair
gave him a somewhat ludicrous appearance, as he stood talking to his
father, but the moment he prepared to get into the saddle he seemed quite
different.
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