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      Chapter IV.

       Waiting for the Doctor

       Table of Contents

      Jess had gone early to rest, and the door of her bed in the kitchen was pulled to. From her window I saw Hendry buying dulse.

      Now and again the dulseman wheeled his slimy boxes to the top of the brae, and sat there stolidly on the shafts of his barrow. Many passed him by, but occasionally some one came to rest by his side. Unless the customer was loquacious, there was no bandying of words, and Hendry merely unbuttoned his east-trouser pocket, giving his body the angle at which the pocket could be most easily filled by the dulseman. He then deposited his half-penny, and moved on. Neither had spoken; yet in the country they would have roared their predictions about to-morrow to a ploughman half a field away.

      Dulse is roasted by twisting it round the tongs fired to a red-heat, and the house was soon heavy with the smell of burning sea-weed. Leeby was at the dresser munching it from a broth-plate, while Hendry, on his knees at the fireplace, gingerly tore off the blades of dulse that were sticking to the tongs, and licked his singed fingers.

      "Whaur's yer mother?" he asked Leeby.

      "Ou," said Leeby, "whaur would she be but in her bed?"

      Hendry took the tongs to the door, and would have cleaned them himself, had not Leeby (who often talked his interfering ways over with her mother) torn them from his hands.

      "Leeby!" cried Jess at that moment.

      "Ay," answered Leeby, leisurely, not noticing, as I happened to do, that Jess spoke in an agitated voice.

      "What is't?" asked Hendry, who liked to be told things.

      He opened the door of the bed.

      "Yer mother's no weel," he said to Leeby.

      Leeby ran to the bed, and I went ben the house. In another two minutes we were a group of four in the kitchen, staring vacantly. Death could not have startled us more, tapping thrice that quiet night on the window-pane.

      "It's diphtheria!" said Jess, her hands trembling as she buttoned her wrapper.

      She looked at me, and Leeby looked at me.

      "It's no, it's no," cried Leeby, and her voice was as a fist shaken at my face. She blamed me for hesitating in my reply. But ever since this malady left me a lonely dominie for life, diphtheria has been a knockdown word for me. Jess had discovered a great white spot on her throat. I knew the symptoms.

      "Is't dangerous?" asked Hendry, who once had a headache years before, and could still refer to it as a reminiscence.

      "Them 'at has 't never recovers," said Jess, sitting down very quietly. A stick fell from the fire, and she bent forward to replace it.

      "They do recover," cried Leeby, again turning angry eyes on me.

      I could not face her; I had known so many who did not recover. She put her hand on her mother's shoulder.

      "Mebbe ye would be better in yer bed," suggested Hendry.

      No one spoke.

      "When I had the headache," said Hendry, "I was better in my bed."

      Leeby had taken Jess's hand—a worn old hand that had many a time gone out in love and kindness when younger hands were cold. Poets have sung and fighting men have done great deeds for hands that never had such a record.

      "If ye could eat something," said Hendry, "I would gae to the flesher's for 't. I mind when I had the headache, hoo a small steak—"

      "Gae awa for the doctor, rayther," broke in Leeby.

      Jess started, for sufferers think there is less hope for them after the doctor has been called in to pronounce sentence.

      "I winna hae the doctor," she said, anxiously.

      In answer to Leeby's nods, Hendry slowly pulled out his boots from beneath the table, and sat looking at them, preparatory to putting them on. He was beginning at last to be a little scared, though his face did not show it.

      "I winna hae ye," cried Jess, getting to her feet, "ga'en to the doctor's sic a sicht. Yer coat's a' yarn."

      "Havers," said Hendry, but Jess became frantic.

      I offered to go for the doctor, СКАЧАТЬ