“She’s better,” he whispered, smilingly. “Look! Damp! Nothing could be a surer sign!”
“May the good God be praised!” moaned Lafe.
Jinnie stirred, lifted her heavy lids, and surveyed the room vacantly. Her glance passed over the medical man as if he were not within the range of her vision. She gazed at Lafe only, with but a faint glimmer of recognition, then on to Peg wavered the sunken blue eyes.
“Drink of water, Peggy dear,” she whispered.
Mrs. Grandoken dropped the fluid into the open, parched mouth from a spoon; then she bent low to catch the stammering words:
“Did Lafe like the rose, Peggy, and did you get the ring of sausage?”
Peg glanced at the doctor, a question struggling to her lips, but she could not frame the words.
“Tell her ‘yes’,” said the man under his breath.
“Lafe just doted on the flower, honey,” acknowledged Peggy, bending over the bed, “and I cooked all the sausage, 97 an’ we two et ’em. They was finer’n silk.... Now go to sleep; will you?”
“Sure,” trembled Jinnie. “Put Happy Pete in my arms, dear.”