"All right," she said, turning darkly away.
And it came into his mind, with utter absurdity, that he ought to kiss her for this submission. And he hated the thought.
Herbert was a boy of nineteen, uncouth, and savagely shy. Jack had to do the menial offices for him.
The sick man went to sleep again almost immediately, and Jack returned to the kitchen. He heard voices from outside.
Ma and Grace were washing up at the slab. Dad was sitting under the photosphorum tree, with Effie on one knee, cutting up tobacco in the palm of his hand. Tom was leaning against the tree, the children sat about. Lennie skipped up and offered a seat on a stump.
"Sit yourself down, Bow," he said, using the nickname. "I'd be a knot instead of a bow if I had to nurse Red Herbert."
Monica came slinking up from the shade, and stood with her skirt touching Jack's arm. Mary was carrying away the dishes.
"I've been telling Tom," said Mr. Ellis, "that he can take the clearing gang over to his A'nt Greenlow's for the shearing, an' then get back an' clear for all he's worth, till Christmas. Y'might as well go along with him, Jack. We can get along all right here without y', now th' girls are back. Till Christmas, that is. We s'll want y' back for the harvest."
There was a dead silence. Jack didn't want to go.
"Then y' can go back to the clearing, and burn off. I need that land reclaimed, over against the little chaps grows up and wants to be farmers. Besides"—and he looked round at Ma—"we're a bit overstocked in' the house just now, an' we'll be glad of the cubby for Herbert, if he's on the mend."