"Oh, good Lord, give me strength!" she murmured, as she seized her needle and thread. "Think of all the children, Lord, and the little ones so fat and well fed; remember me, good Lord, and take the rheumatis away, ef it's your good will."
She took up her needle with renewed courage, and once more began to perform those curious movements of wrist and hand which were necessary to produce the feather-stitching. In ten minutes the pain returned, the powerless finger and thumb refused to grasp the needle. Large drops of sweat stood out now on Grannie's forehead.
"Wot do it mean?" she said to herself. "I never heerd tell of rheumatis like this, and for certain it aint writers' cramp, for I never write. Oh, what an awful sort of thing writing is, when a letter once in six months knocks you over in this way. Dear, dear, I'm a-shaking, but I 'a' done a nice little bit, and it's past three o'clock. I'll go to bed. The doctor spoke a deal about rest; I didn't mind him much. He was all wrong about the pain, but perhaps he were right about the rest, so I'll go straight to bed."
Grannie carefully slacked down the fire, put out the lamp, and stole into the little bedroom which she shared with the two younger children. Harry and David were already asleep in the lean-to at the other side of the kitchen, the opposite room to Alison's. The well-fed children in Grannie's bed breathed softly in their happy slumbers; the little old woman got in between them and lay down icy cold, and trembling a good deal. The children slept on, but the little woman lay awake with her wide-open eyes staring straight into the darkness, and the dreadful pain in hand and arm banishing all possibility of slumber.
CHAPTER VI.
In the morning Grannie got up as usual. She was very white and shaky, but she had no intention of complaining. The pain from which she was suffering had somewhat abated, but the poor hand and arm felt tired and very feeble. She longed for the comfort of a sling, but decided not to wear one; the children would all notice it and pass remarks, and Grannie could not bear to be commented upon. She did not want to add trouble to trouble just now. She resolved to forget herself in thoughts of Alison and the others. She was early in the kitchen, but to her relief and pleasure found David there before her. Next to Alison, David was Grannie's favorite. He was thoughtful and considerate. He was a great big manly fellow, but there was also a very sweet feminine element in him; he could be domestic without being in the least girlish. He was devoted to Grannie, and often, tired as he was when he went to bed, got up early in the morning to save her work. He had turned on the gas, and the first thing he noticed now, when she came in, was her worn, puckered little face.
"Why, Grannie, you are out of sorts," he said. "Why did you get up so early? Surely Ally and me can manage the bit of work. But, I say, you are all of a tremble. Set down, and I'll get ye a cup of tea in a minute."
"No, Dave, no!" said the old woman, "'twill soon pass—'twill soon pass; the rheumatis in my hand and arm has been bothering me all night, and it makes me a bit shaky; but 'twill soon pass, Dave. We mustn't waste the tea, you know, lad; and I won't have a cup—no, I won't."
"Well, set there and rest," said the young man. "Thank goodness, I aint ashamed to work, and I'm real proud to put the kitchen straight and tidy. See how bright the fire is already; you warm your toes, Grannie, and you'll soon be better."