He called her by her mother's name sometimes.
"The house is fine and water-proof," she declared. "There's not a drop got in anywhere."
When the cuckoo cried nine, she made supper with cold meat and bread and jam and more tea.
But Jacob did not want to eat.
"We'll turn in," he said. "We've had a hard day. I hope they got back all right. Do you feel pretty peart?"
"Never better, father. I've hotted a brick for your bed, because you're a thought shivery by the look of it."
"Nought," he said. "Only weariness."
"Your leg don't hurt you?"
"Only terrible tired. Can I do anything more for you to-night?"
"No—you get to bed and I'll soon go too."