"Eh?" said Martha, appearing to rouse from a spell of complete inattention.
"Call—that—doctor!"
Mrs. Slawson moved her massive frame slowly in the direction of the door.
"Miss Katherine! Miss Katherine!" she shouted past the two silent figures, just outside the threshold, "Say, Miss Katherine! Are you downstairs? Yes? The doctor gone yet? Say, hurry! Get Sam to go after'm, an' see can he call'm back! Your gran'ma wants'm!"
CHAPTER III
Katherine Crewe awoke next morning to find Mrs. Slawson standing by her bedside, bearing a breakfast tray.
"It's earlier than I'd 'a' chose to disturb you," Martha explained apologetically, "but I gotta go home an' feed my fam'ly, an' see the raft o' them gets a good start for the day."
"But you haven't had any rest! You made me go to bed, but you must have sat up all night." The girl spoke with compunction, looking regretfully at Mrs. Slawson's heavy eyes.
"Me? Now, don't you worry your head about me," Martha returned, as she placed the tray in a convenient position, and arranged the pillows back of Miss Crewe, so they gave her comfortable support. "I got along all right. An' your gran'ma slep' fine. I went parolin' 'round, every oncet in a while, to see if she'd need anythin', an' each time she was breathin' as peaceful as a baby. You'll think I'm awful, but whenever I remember las' night, an' me carryin' things with a high hand against her will, I almost kill myself laughin'. Poor ol' lady! the way she looked at me! It was like a song they learn the childern to sing, down home—I should say New York, in the high school Cora went to.
"'Drink to me only with thine eyes——,' whatever that means. With your gran'ma it was, Cuss at me only with thine eyes. She didn't open her head to say a word, but what she meant was plain as preachin'—only not quite so pious."