“Oh, do be quiet, mother,” cried Esau angrily. “What’s the good o’ making such a fuss? We fell out and had a bit of a fight, and it’s all over, and I’m very sorry, and if he’ll shake hands, there’s mine.”
“Not till you tell me you don’t believe I did that,” I cried fiercely.
“Well, there then, I don’t believe you told him. I can’t now you’ve knocked it all out of me. But I should have won.”
“If I had not been so weak from my wound, you would not have won,” I cried.
“Well, no,” said Esau thoughtfully, as we shook hands, “for you do hit precious hard. There, mother, will that do?”
“Oh yes, my dear,” cried Mrs Dean, clinging to my hands now; “and may I kiss you, my dear?”
I bent down and kissed the little woman, whose face was full of sympathy for me.
“And you’ve been dangerously ill and nearly dead, Mr Raydon told us. Well, that excuses everything. Esau’s temper was horrible after he had been ill with measles. You remember, my dear?”
“I don’t,” said Esau, on being thus appealed to. “I know you were always cross with me, and wouldn’t let me go out.”
“Ah well, ah well,” said Mr John Dempster, “never mind about that now. Mayne, my dear boy, do wash your face, and let’s have a long talk. I am sorry my dear wife saw you like this, for she has been talking so much about you. I am very sorry.”