“He can come in now,” he said feebly.
“But he doesn’t want anything,” she explained. “You lie still.”
“Oi’d like him to come.” She went softly to the door and called.
“Here I am, uncle!” cried Will cheerily.
“ ’Tain’t you Oi want. But happen ef your mother ’ud come and talk things over——”
“My mother?” said Will, startled. Martha, he knew, would have the same repugnance as he to this feckless, grimy, impossible creature: an aversion which even the wasted features could not counteract.
“It don’t seem to git over she,” he explained, “but Oi never could hear proper, bein’ at the keyhole in a manner o’ speakin’. But ef she’d come and explain——!”
“Yes, she will,” said Jinny. “She must, Will.”
“I’ll tell her,” he murmured.
“He’ll bring her in the morning,” she promised emphatically. “You take a little more tea now and get to sleep.” She covered him up carefully and stuck a great log in the stove.