"You miss the importance of this," the doctor was also losing patience. "I'll only keep you—"
"You won't keep me a minute—'cause I won't give you a minute! There's others who've got skins!" And he passed quickly out.
Stone could do no more than glare after him, and he then said something which is not usually said in sick rooms.
"Won' a li'l cullud skin do?" the old nurse looked timidly up at him.
He shook his head; smiling, but sadly.
She sighed. The windows were getting black now; night was settling over the earth; yet this man in whose hands rested the fate of Mesmie walked softly back and forth across the room, muttering:
"I must have good skin."
"I knows whar you kin git good skin," she whispered excitedly, arising and grasping him by the sleeve. "Git in dar-ar churn of yoh'n an' go dis minit to Tom Hewlet's house, den tell Miss Nancy ole Timmie say we'se countin' on her! She'll come, too! Make haste now, man!"
The noise of his little machine was growing faint, when the door opened and Brent stood on the threshold.
"Where's Stone, Aunt Timmie?"