For the doctor had definitely said that John Grange would not die from the effects of his fall.
“Thank you, Tummus, old man,” said the patient, one evening about a fortnight after the accident; and he took a bunch of roses in his hand. “I can’t see them, but they smell deliciously. Hah! How it makes me long to be back again among the dear old flowers.”
“Aye, to be sure, my lad. You mun mak’ haste and get well and get out to us again. Dan Barnett arn’t half the man you are among the missus’s orchardses. And look here, I want my old woman home again. You mun look sharp and get well.”
“Yes: I hope the doctor will soon let me get up. God bless you, Hannah! You’ve been quite like a mother to me.”
“Nonsense, nonsense, boy; only a bit o’ nussing. Make haste and get well again.”
“Aye, she’d be a good nuss if she warn’t quite so fond o’ mustard,” said old Tummus. “It’s allus mustard, mustard, stuck about you to pingle and sting if there’s owt the matter. I like my mustard on my beef. And that’s what you want, Master John—some good slices o’ beef. They women’s never happy wi’out giving you spoon meat.”
“Hold your tongue, Tummus, and don’t talk so much nonsense,” said his wife.
“Nay, I arn’t going to be choked. I s’pose Mrs Mostyn sends you jellies and chicken-broth, and the like?”
“Yes, every one is very kind,” said Grange. “But look here, have you seen to the mushroom bed?”
“Aye.”