Smither held up her hands. "A man! Oh! no. Cook and me can manage perfectly. A strange man about would send him crazy in no time. And my mistresses wouldn't like the idea of a man in the house. Besides, we're so proud of him."
"I suppose the doctor comes?"
"Every morning. He makes special terms for such a quantity, and Mr. Timothy's so used, he doesn't take a bit of notice, except to put out his tongue."
"Well," said Soames, turning away, "it's rather sad and painful to me."
"Oh! sir," returned Smither anxiously, "you mustn't think that. Now that he can't worry about things, he quite enjoys his life, really he does. As I say to Cook, Mr. Timothy is more of a man than he ever was. You see, when he's not walkin', or takin' his bath, he's eatin', and when he's not eatin', he's sleeping and there it is. There isn't an ache or a care about him anywhere."
"Well," said Soames, "there's something in that. I'll go down. By the way, let me see his Will."
"I should have to take my time about that, sir; he keeps it under his pillow, and he'd see me, while he's active."
"I only want to know if it's the one I made," said Soames; "you take a look at its date some time, and let me know."
"Yes, sir; but I'm sure it's the same, because me and Cook witnessed, you remember, and there's our names on it still, and we've only done it once."
"Quite!" said Soames. He did remember. Smither and Jane had been proper witnesses, having been left nothing in the Will that they might have no interest in Timothy's death. It had been—he fully admitted—an almost improper precaution, but Timothy had wished it, and, after all, Aunt Hester had provided for them amply.