Paul Bell was buried three days before Christmas. All those who stood at his frosty graveside in the December cold were invited to the Bell to drink to his memory. His daughter, Bessie, now owned the place.
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She did not want to grieve alone, so she poured the tavern's best ale generously. Lennie Fiddler played sad tunes on his five-stringed instrument, and the mourners became tearful and maudlin as they got drunker.
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Merthin sat in the corner with Lolla. At yesterday's market he had bought some sweet raisins from Corinth -- an expensive luxury. He was sharing them with Lolla, teaching her numbers at the same time. He counted nine raisins for himself, but when he was counting out hers he missed every other number, saying: "One, three, five, seven, nine."
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"No!" she said. "That's not right!" She was laughing, knowing that he was only teasing.
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第六十一章
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