“Well, that’s settled—but now, we must have some one to sit up with you.”
“Sit up with me? nobody will sit up with an old thing like me.”
“Yes, I will, mother,” said I, “and I’ll look in upon you in the daytime, and see if you want to drink.”
“No, no, Jack! then you’ll make no money.”
“Yes I will—never mind that.”
“Well, at all events,” replied the doctor, “Jack will sit up with you this night; and we’ll see how you are to-morrow. Now, Jack, come back with me, and I’ll give you something for her. Good night, Nanny,” said the doctor, leaving the room.
“Good night,” grumbled old Nanny; and as we were going through the shop I heard her continue: “It’s very easy saying ‘good night,’ but how can a poor wretch like me, with every bone aching as if it would split, expect to have a ‘good night’?”
As the doctor walked home, he appeared not to be in his usual talkative mood. He went to the shop, made up the medicines, and gave me the directions.
“Here, Jack, take these; and it will be a kindness to sit up with her to-night. I will see her to-morrow; and as I can’t allow you to be the only good Samaritan in the place, understand, Jack, that I attend the poor old woman and find medicine for nothing.”
I thanked him, and hastened back. Old Nanny took her draught, and then turned round on her side. I suppose there was opium in it, for she soon fell fast asleep; not, however, until she had said, “Jack, have you locked the door?”