“You’ll rest, dad; you’ll rest. Think of the peace and quiet while I sit and read to you and the sun comes in at the window.”
“Good lad! It isn’t that, though rest has a beautiful sound to me. It’s the thought—harkee, Renny! It’s the thought that a task I’ve not failed in for twenty years and more must come to be another’s.”
“What task?”
“There are ears in the walls. Closer, my son. The task of oiling the wheel below.”
“Shall I take it up, dad? Is that your wish?”
I answered stoutly, though my heart sunk within me at the prospect.
“You or nobody, it must be. Are you afraid?”
“I wish I could say I wasn’t.”
He clutched my hand in tremulous eagerness.
“Master it! You must, my lad! Much depends on it. They whisper the room is haunted. Not for you, Renalt, if for anybody. Haven’t I been familiar with it all these years, and yet I lie here unscathed? How can it spare the evil old man and hurt the just son?”