He woke with a violent start, his feet swung to the floor, his body hunched as if to spring, his glance wildly alive. Then it fell on her and the fierce alertness died out; his face softened into a smile, almost sheepish, and he rubbed his hand over his eyes.
"Lord, I was asleep," he muttered.
She kissed him, pulled him up, and with an arm round his back, steered him to an armchair, asking questions. His hand on her waist patted softly.
"Well, you ain't fattened up any," he said with a quizzical grin and side glance.
That made him look more like himself, but Pancha noticed that his movements were stiff.
"What's the matter?" she said sharply. "You ain't got the rheumatism again, have you?"
"Nup," he sank slowly into the chair. "But sometimes when I first move I sort 'er kink at the knees. Gets me in the morning, but I limber up all right."
She stood beside him, uneasily frowning.
"What are you goin' to do this winter when the rains begin? You can't run risks of being sick, and me not able to get to you."
"Sick—hell!" He shot a humorous look at her. "I ain't sick in God's own country—it's only down here. Why y'ain't all as stiff as stone images in this sea-damp beats me."