“In bed, is he? I am so sorry. Would you like me to wire down to Bratley for the doctor to come up on the morning cars?” whispered Nell to the deaf woman.
Mrs. Trip, who was looking very miserable, began to cry, faltering out between her sobs—
“It don’t come natural to me to fib, Miss Hamblyn, ’deed it don’t; but what was I to do? The truth would most likely have lost him his place.”
“What do you mean?” asked Nell, with a bewildered look.
“Joey ain’t sick at all,” gasped the old woman in great distress, “not that I knows on, at least, though I’ll grant you he’s silly.”
“Where is he, then?” demanded Nell, blankly.
“He ain’t at home; he went off nearly two hours ago, I should say it was,” sobbed the old woman.
“But where?” asked Nell.
“How should I know? I only saw him go. Then when the train man came to ask for him, I guessed he’d gone off somewhere; and because I was afraid I told the falsehood, and now I’ll have it on my conscience to my dying day,” Mrs. Trip said, moaning piteously.
Nell tried to comfort her, but did not succeed very well. Remembering that her office was not locked up, she went slowly back to make things secure for the night, turning over in her own mind as she went the probable reasons why Joey had chosen to absent himself from duty on that particular evening, and resolving to tell him pretty plainly when he returned that for the future he would have to do his own work, as she was quite tired of being pointsman, porter, and everything else, in addition to her own proper duties.