"Two more what?" said Saterlee.
"It's the floods, I reckon," whined the old man. "There's three on the kitchen floor and there's two ladies in my bed. That's why I'm sittin' up. There wa'n't no bed for a man in his own house. But I found this here old copy of the Medical Revoo, 'n' I'm puttin' in the time with erysipelis."
"But," said Saterlee, "you must find some place for this lady to rest.
She is worn out with walking and hunger."
"Stop!" whined the old man, smiting his thigh, "if there ain't that there mattress in the loft! And I clean forgot, and told the boys that I hadn't nothin' better than a rug or two 'n the kitchen floor."
"A mattress!" exclaimed Saterlee. "Splendid! I guess you can sleep some on anything near as good as a mattress. Can't you, ma'am?"
"Indeed I could!" she said. "But you have been through as much as I have—more. I won't take it."
The old man's whine interrupted.
"Ain't you two married?" he said.
"Nop," said Saterlee shortly.
"Now ain't that ridiculous?" meditated the old man; "I thought you was all along." His eyes brightened behind the spectacles. "It ain't for me to interfere in course," he said, "but hereabouts I'm a Justice of the Peace." Neither spoke.