He let her go out, and she stole down to the kitchen, there to tell Mrs. Grant, when she came in from the dining-room, that Oscar was in, and gone to bed, without saying anything of what she had done.
“I say, come up here, and help me on with my jacket,” called Oscar, the next morning, from above stairs, to Inna below in the hall.
Up she ran, like a willing little friend in need, to the needy boy.
“This is my best jacket,” said he, when the injured arm was safe in its sleeve. “Now you [p52] hear what Mother Peggy will say when she sees me adorned with it.”
“Yes,” returned Inna; “has it pained you to-night?”
“Well, yes; I never slept a wink till ’twas almost get-up time.”
She looked at him; his face was worn, his eyes wild.
“Tell Uncle Jonathan, and let him see to it, or let me tell him.”
“At your peril, if you do!” said he, like a very despot. “And besides, ’tis more like Billy Barlow’s job than the doctor’s.”
“Let me tell Mr. Barlow, then,” she pleaded.