"I don't think you can see Mr. Roebuck," she said.
"Take my card to him," I ordered, "and I'll wait in the parlor."
"Parlor's in use," she retorted with a sarcastic grin, which I was soon to
understand.
So I stood by the old-fashioned coat and hat rack while she went in at the
hall door of the back parlor. Soon Roebuck himself came out, his glasses on
his nose, a family Bible under his arm. "Glad to see you, Matthew," said he
with saintly kindliness, giving me a friendly hand. "We are just about to
offer up our evening prayer. Come right in."
I followed him into the back parlor. Both it and the front parlor were
lighted; in a sort of circle extending into both rooms were all the
Roebucks and the four servants. "This is my friend, Matthew Blacklock,"
said he, and the Roebucks in the circle gravely bowed. He drew up a chair
for me, and we seated ourselves. Amid a solemn hush, he read a chapter from
the big Bible spread out upon his lean lap. My glance wandered from face to
face of the Roebucks, as plainly dressed as were their servants. I was able
to look freely, mine being the only eyes not bent upon the floor.
It was the first time in my life that I had witnessed family prayers.
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