"Dear Mrs. Yocomb," I laughed, "you are the most amiable and beneficent dragon that ever watched over a captive."
"Thee wants watching. The moment my back's turned thee's into mischief, and the young people are just as bad. Reuben, I might better have left Zillah here."
"Do let her come," I exclaimed; "she'll do more good than medicine."
"Well, she shall bring thee up thy chicken broth; that will please her wonderfully. Go away, Reuben, and tell Zillah to bring the broth—not another word. Does thee feel better, Richard?"
"Oh, I am almost well. I'm ashamed to own how hungry I am."
"That's a good sign—a very good sign."
"Mrs. Yocomb, how did I become so ill? I'm haunted by the oddest sense of not remembering something that happened after you spoke to us the other evening."
"There's nothing strange in people's being sick—thee knows that. Then thee had been overworking so long that thee had to pay the penalty."
"Yes, I remember that. Thank Heaven I drifted into this quiet harbor before the storm came. I should have died in New York."
"Well, thee knows where to come now when thee's going to have another bad turn. I hope, however, that thee'll be too good a man to overwork so again. Now thee's talked enough."