“Yes,” said Hopper, “I’ve done a deal in bills. This is one of ten—of Fred’s: I bought ’em—for his grandmother’s sake,” he added softly.
Dick stretched out his hand, grasped the other’s, and then turned his chair to have a look at a ship in the offing, which seemed quite blurred.
“Pick! Dick!” screamed Mrs Shingle.
“Yes, yes—what?” he cried, starting up and running in, to find Jessie lying white as ashes in her mother’s arms.
“Quick!” cried Mrs Shingle; “tell—tell the doctor—this is the second time to-day! Dick—Dick!” she cried passionately, “she’s dying!”
Old Hopper was the most active of the party; and long before the doctor could be brought Jessie had revived, but only to lie back listlessly, gazing out to sea; while, when the medical man left, it was with a solemn shake of the head, which sent a chill to the hearts of Dick and his spouse.
They had been sitting by their child for about an hour, when old Hopper came in, and stood looking down at her in a quiet, unsympathising way.
“I’ve come to say good-bye,” he said roughly.
“Good-bye?” said Dick. “Why, you only came yesterday!”
“I know, but I’m no good here. Good-bye, my girl. I wish you better.”