"And got a cheque—but the cheque was not signed, I could not cash it, I could not get a farthing of the money!" exclaimed John, with unusual animation. "Go, mother, go directly to the Justice, ask him for the legacy which he has in charge—tell him that the cheque was not worth a nettle-leaf!"
John's manner was becoming more excited, for he read in his mother's face that she either did not understand, or did not believe him.
"I cannot go to Justice Burns and ask him for—for—" Mrs. Carey did not finish the sentence aloud, but thought "for money which he doubtless has paid already."
The simple widow knew nothing about cheques, had never seen one in her life, and she feared that her son's fever was returning upon him.
"If you do not go, I must, and will!" exclaimed John, by a desperate effort starting to his feet, and then sinking back exhausted on his seat.
"Oh! My son, I will do what you wish, anything that you wish!" cried the anxious mother. "Only promise that you will keep quiet, and I will go at once to the Justice."
[CHAPTER VI.]
The Mother's Errand.
NEVER had Mrs. Carey gone more unwillingly on an errand. It was not merely that—after being long shut up in a sick-room, weakened by watching and fasting, the fresh air made her feel giddy, so that, but for her husband's good staff, she could scarcely have gone on her way; but that she shrank with extreme dislike from making what she feared to be an unjust claim, and naturally dreaded that, by so doing, she would arouse the anger of the Justice, whose irritable temper was well known in the village.
"I'm sure that I shall never have the face to give him my poor son's message," murmured the widow, as she at last reached the Justice's door, and timidly rang the bell, so timidly that the sound was not heard, and she had to ring again.