“Yes, gran’fa, I’ve come at last,” said the girl in a sullen tone.
“I might ha’ died for all you’d ha’ cared,” grumbled the old man; “but I wouldn’t—nay, I wouldn’t do that.”
Dally made no answer, but plumped herself down on the old shred hearthrug, and put her hands round one knee, so as to stare at the fire.
“Well,” said the old man after a pause, “ain’t you going to speak?”
Dally turned and looked at him sharply, with her brow knit and her mouth tightened up; but she only shook her head.
“Never been a-nigh me for three days,” grumbled Moredock; “after all I’ve done for you. But don’t you make too sure. Young ’uns often goes ’fore old folk, and maybe I’ll bury you, and Joe Chegg too, if he don’t mind what he’s about.”
Dally paid no heed, but stared at the fire.
“Seen doctor?” said Moredock.
Dally looked round again as if she did not quite hear his question, and then shook her head again.
“Never mind; I don’t want him,” grumbled the old man. “Let him doctor hisself. I’m not so bad but what I can get well without him. I’m not worn out yet! I’m not worn out yet!”