"Now, there are the shrewd ones for you," she said. "There is the careful pair. Down at the door, outside, they put you; and away with them, as hard as they could pelt!"
The old man closed his eyes and began to mutter.
"It is nothing, my sons. Nothing at all. Have I not had pains in the head before? The plague will not enter my house. No, no! There is no gorging and stuffing and high living here. And so there is nothing to attract it."
"Gorging and stuffing," said the hag, her yellow teeth showing all the more. "Not enough food has gone into that house in a year to keep a pigeon fat a fortnight."
"The garret is high," said the old man. "It's well out of reach, and airy, and cool. From there I can watch the wind blow the smoke from the chimneys, and see the weather-vanes turn, and the flags fly from the mast tops. So put me in the garret, Nathaniel. And draw the cupboard near to my bed."
"Ha, ha!" said the old woman. "The cupboard!"
"And the chest, Rehoboam; place the chest where I can reach it. Beside my bed. And then I will sleep; and to-morrow I will be well."
"To-morrow," said the old woman, "you'll be with the worms. And you'll give them no joy, either; for there'll be spare picking, indeed, on the like of you."
"Who is this?" asked Anthony, as he moved toward the bed.
"This, sir," said the hag, "is old Bulfinch. He's a usurer by trade, and now lies here rotting of the fever."