The consequence was that she made no scruple about dragging a little couch out of the parlour into the kitchen, and after I was dressed, making me lie down near the fire.
“If they don’t like it about the sofy, they must do the other thing,” she said, laughing. “I say, do you know what time it is?”
“No,” I replied.
“Half-past ten, and I’ve been waiting breakfast till you woke. You have had a sleep. I wouldn’t wake you, for I thought it would do you good.”
“I am better, a great deal,” I said.
“Yes; so you are. He ain’t, or pretends he ain’t. Miss Hetty’s been catching it.”
“Has she?”
“Yes; for wanting to know about you. Missus told her you were a wicked young wretch, and had half killed your master, and she was never to mention your name again.”
I was decidedly better, and in the course of the afternoon I got up and found that the various objects had ceased to waltz around. I made my way up to my bedroom, and for the first time had a look at myself in the glass, where I found that a sore feeling upon my face was caused by a couple of black marks which crossed each other at a sharp angle, and that high up above my temple, and just where the hair would cover it, there was a patch of black court-plaister, which was placed across and across in strips to cover a long and painful cut.
The days glided by; the weals on my face changed colour and began to fade, while the cut on my head grew less painful. I was thrown a good deal with Mary, for no work had been set me in the office, and Mr Blakeford kept his bed, being regularly attended by the doctor.