"So do I. Say, little woman, suppose you and I try to cure it."
Amy looked up. She had been speaking simply of his disease. She now saw that he had not been thinking of that at all. For the moment, while she so gently manipulated the swollen ankle and bound it with the lotions Marshall handed her, he had been quite comfortable, and the keen twinkle in his eye set her thinking. Was it the family feud he wished might be healed? He, who was the very foundation and cause of it?
"SHE SO GENTLY MANIPULATED THE SWOLLEN ANKLE AND BOUND IT WITH THE LOTION."
She caught his hand in both hers, eagerly.
"Do you mean that we might live at peace; in love, as kinsfolk should? Now—this peace day—when the Christ child comes? Is it that?"
But Marshall made a little motion which might be warning or contempt. The old man's face hardened again.
"What are you asking? Look, you've wet my cuffs! Your hands just out of hot water and all liniment!"
"Never mind your cuffs. Look out for your heart. You're a poor, lonely old fellow, and I'm sorry for you."