“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“No. He is there now; at least, he was there, when we came away.”
“Was he working out his novena?”
“No; just mending himself. He fell off from something, his dignity most likely, and bumped his head and sprained his ankle. I happened to be on the spot, and rashly admitted that my father was a doctor. Then, before I really had grasped the situation, the poor man was bundled into a cart and deposited at our door, half fainting and wholly out of temper.”
“And then?”
“And then we couldn’t get a nurse for love or money, and I had to go to work and take care of him.”
“Happy man!” Brock observed. “I only hope he appreciated his luck.”
The corners of Nancy’s mouth curved upwards, and a malicious light came into her eyes.
“I think he did. He not only expressed himself as pleased with my services; but, on one occasion, he gave me a—”