Nell’s hand trembled suddenly, and there was a great clattering among the crockery which she was handling, but her tone was quite steady when she asked—
“Who is old Doss?”
“Oh, he’s our lodger, and he’s been sick a good while back. Off his feed he is too, and so thin you could pretty nearly count every bone in his body. So dad he said I was to come over and buy him a pie from the cook-shop close to Camp’s Gulch depot, and as there ain’t no other cook-shop than this, I guess I’ve hit the place right plump in the middle of the bulls-eye,” the boy said, with great complacency.
“But pies are not good for sick folk; they should have broths, and jellies, eggs, gruel, and that sort of thing,” expostulated Nell, in a shocked tone, for the thought of giving new pastry to an invalid did appear rather dreadful to her.
“Dad ’as made him broth and gruel, but he just tastes it and turns his head away, as if he hadn’t any relish for it. Then dad thought of your pies, and said he guessed the sight and smell of one of them would make old Doss eat, if anything could.”
Nell had grown very white; it had not taken her long to decide that probably the old man of whom the boy spoke was her grandfather, and she with equal quickness made up her mind what was her duty concerning him.
“I think I should like to come and see your sick man. How can I find my way from the Settlement to Goat’s Gulch?” she asked.
“You don’t want to go to the Settlement at all; there’s a nearer way over the hills. But you’d never find out where we lived, not alone,” said the boy, with a chuckle.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because we live in a cart—me, and dad, and old Doss, and if we didn’t want our location spied upon, why we should just move on round the next corner, don’t you see,” the boy answered, with another chuckle.