Nobody was jealous
of the weaver, for he was regarded as an exceptional person, whose
claims on neighbourly help were not to be matched in Raveloe. Any
superstition that remained concerning him had taken an entirely new
colour; and Mr Macey, now a very feeble old man of fourscore and
six, never seen except in his chimney corner or sitting in the
sunshine at his door-sill, was of opinion that when a man had done
what Silas had done by an orphan child, it was a sign that his money
would come to light again, or leastwise that the robber would be
made to answer for it- for, as Mr Macey observed of himself, his
faculties were as strong as ever.
Silas sat down now and watched Eppie with a satisfied gaze as she
spread the clean cloth, and set on it the potato-pie, warmed up slowly
in a safe Sunday fashion, by being put into a dry pot over a
slowly-dying fire, as the best substitute for an oven. For Silas would
not consent to have a grate and oven added to his conveniences: he
loved the old brick hearth as he had loved his brown pot- and was it
not there when he had found Eppie? The gods of the hearth exist for us
still; and let all new faith be tolerant of that fetishism, lest it
bruise its own roots.
Silas ate his dinner more silently than usual, soon laying down his
knife and fork, and watching half-abstractedly Eppie's play with
Snap and the cat, by which her own dining was made rather a lengthy
business.
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