Meanwhile, Farmer Bluff's gout and the repairs had gone on apace. The old fellow's prediction had come true more speedily than he desired. Not many days had elapsed when the left hand was seized, and he became entirely dependent upon Elspeth—being unable even to feed himself.
As long as the holidays had lasted, Hal had contrived to drop in pretty often; and he would hardly have believed how much he was missed, now that lessons and April showers combined to keep him away. One half-holiday proving fine, however, Hal slipped out between school and lunch, and set off for the farm. He rang, as usual, but no one came; so, finding the door on the latch, he pushed it open and announced himself.
A savoury smell greeted him. Farmer Bluff's dinner tray was on the table. Hal apologized for his intrusion.
"I didn't know you dined quite so soon," said he.
"No more I do, it seems," returned Farmer Bluff gruffly. "That's how she serves me pretty nearly every day; just brings it in and takes the covers off. Then leaves it here for me to smell until it's all gone cold,—to go and eat her own, I s'pose. And here am I, can't move hand or foot!"
"That's bad," said Hal; "it spoils the gravy so. You get the fat all on the top."
It was a mutton chop, and there were greens with it, according to the doctor's express orders.
"Greens aren't nice cold, either," added Hal. "They get so dabby, don't they? I suppose it rather comes of your having gout in both hands, though. Grown-ups are intended to be able to help themselves, you see."
The farmer groaned. He always did, when Hal made these little moral reflections. If any one had scolded, it would have only angered him and made him obstinate; but Hal's remarks came out so naturally, and he looked so sympathetic all the while, that a more ill-tempered man than Farmer Bluff could scarcely have felt annoyed.
"I'll tell you what," said Hal suddenly. "As I happen to be here just now, why shouldn't I help you? I can manage quite as well as Mrs. Elspeth, if you like."