“We are thankful enough to have you coming in fresh, instead of breaking down now. Have you a sermon? You will have to take Wil’sbro’ to-morrow. Driver won’t come. He wrote to the churchwardens that he had a cold, and that his agreement was with poor Fuller.”
“And you undertook the Sunday?”
“Yes. They would naturally have no Celebration, and I thought Herbert’s preaching in the midst of his work would be good for them. You never heard such an apology and confession as the boy made to our people the first Sunday here, begging them to bear with him.”
“Then I can’t spare you anything here?”
“Yes, much care and anxiety. The visitation has done its worst in our house. We have got into the lull after the storm, and you need not be anxious about me. There is peace in what I have to do now. It is gathering the salvage after the wreck.”
Then Julius went into his own house, where he found Terry alone, and, as usual, ravenously hungry.
“Is Bowater really ill?” he asked.
“I am afraid there is no believing otherwise, Terry,” said Julius. “You will have to spare Rose to him sometimes, till some one comes to nurse him.”
“I would spare anything to him,” said Terry, fervently. “Julius, it is finer than going into battle!”
“I thought you did not care much for battles, Terry.”