This was done, and also in due time a lantern was brought upon the scene. It revealed a state of things almost as hopeless as the world appeared to Noah's dove the first time she was sent out of the ark. If there was rest for the soles of their feet, it was all that could be said. There was no promise of a place to sit down; and as for _lying_ down and getting their natural rest, the idea was Utopian.
'Now look here,' said a voice suddenly out of the darkness outside: 'you're all fagged out, ain't ye? and there ain't nothin' on arth ye kin du to-night; there's no use o' your tryin'. Jes' come over to my house and hev some supper. Ye must want it bad. Ben travellin' all day, ain't ye? Jes' come over to me; I've got some hot supper for ye. Lands sakes! ye kin't do nothin' here to-night. It _is_ a kind of a turn-up, ain't it? La, a movin's wuss'n a weddin', for puttin' everybody out.'
The voice, sounding at first from the outside, had been gradually drawing nearer and nearer, till with the last words the speaker also entered the back room, where Esther and her father were standing. They were standing in the midst of packing-cases, of every size and shape, between which the shadows lay dark, while the faint lantern light just served to show the rough edges and angles of the boxes and the hopeless condition of things generally. It served also now to let the new-comer be dimly seen. Esther and her father, looking towards the door, perceived a stout little figure, with her two hands rolled up in her shawl, head bare, and with hair in neat order, for it glanced in the lantern shine as only smooth things can. The features of the face were not discernible.
'It's the cunnel himself, ain't it?' she said. 'They said he was a tall man, and I see _this_ is a tall un. Is it the cunnel himself? I couldn't somehow make out the name--I never kin; and I kin't _see_ nothin', as the light is.'
'At your service, madam,' said the person addressed. 'Colonel Gainsborough.'
The visitor dropped a little dot of a curtsey, which seemed to Esther inexpressibly funny, and went on.
'Beg pardon for not knowin'. Wall, cunnel, I'm sure you're tired and hungry,--you and your darter, is it?--and I've got a hot supper for you over to my house. I allays think there's nothin' like hevin' things hot,--cold comfort ain't no comfort, for me,--and I've got everythin' hot for you--hot and nice; and now, will you come over and eat it? You see, you kin't do nothin' here to-night. I don't see how ever you're to sleep, in this world; there ain't nothin' here but the floor and the boxes, and if you'll take beds with me, I'm sure you're welcome.'